


Bound to the Law: Working Out the Kinks

by Dawnwind



Series: Bound to the Law [2]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 03:25:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 46,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnwind/pseuds/Dawnwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After solving Carlysle's murder, Starsky and Hutch take a weekend alone to continue their bondage play.</p><p>Warning: This is a story about consensual bondage and pain play. Do not read any further if this bothers you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound to the Law: Working Out the Kinks

Bound to the Law III: Working out the Kinks  
By  
Dawnwind

 

"Carlysle is dead?" Starsky repeated, in shock.

"Get dressed," Hutch ordered distractedly, his hand still on the phone. Looking around the rented house with a frown, he said, "I'll pack up the place, we need to be outta here ten minutes ago." 

He was no longer in his dominant personality, but Starsky did as told anyway.

As hard as it had been for Starsky to fall into the submissive role the night before after working as a detective all day, it was equally as had to relinquish the slave mentality. He kept remembering the tall, stately Carlysle with her ice blue eyes and awe-inspiring figure. She had been a dominatrix when the two detectives had met her in a mundane matter about a complaint against her, and after the first meeting Starsky had been unable to get his mind off her. Even now, with Hutch satisfying his every need as friend, partner, lover and for the second time, master, Carlysle still entered his daydreams occasionally. Her dominant self-confidence combined with glacier-like calm and smoldering sex appeal made for an unforgettable combination. That such a complex fusion of fire and ice had been snuffed out was unthinkable.

While Hutch threw on some clothes and then ran into the kitchen to pack up the remains of their supper, Starsky dressed more slowly. He put on his pants, hissing in pain when the rough fabric first touched his recently beaten backside, then pulled the bulky turtleneck over his head. Hutch's zeal for Starsky's body was written all over his neck and chest in the form of passion marks and hickeys. Luckily it was cold and no one would think twice about his wearing such a heavy sweater. Even so, his skin was so sensitive right now, just walking into the living room caused flares of pain every time he so much as moved a muscle. This was going to get really annoying really quickly and make for an uncomfortable night.

"You ready?" Hutch called, his fair skin glistening with sweat because he'd been running around like a crazy man to tidy up. He piled the ice chest and suitcase by the door, then made another quick trip into the kitchen. Starsky took a hurried look around the house that had been the place of such intense pleasure and pain and wished they'd been able to stay longer. It was a strange longing. He'd been beaten only a scant two hours before. Why he would want to stay was a mystery, but he felt as though the minute they stepped out the front door, the spell that Hutch had cast over him would be broken.  
He peered back into the hallway, wanting to be able to examine the carving on the headboard of the bed more closely, poke amongst the books on the shelves and maybe relax next to Hutch watching a movie on the state of the art entertainment system. They'd never even sat on the sofa the whole time they'd been here! The bed and the floor had gotten all the action. It was with a distinct sense of losing something precious that he went over to the door to wait for Hutch. This was all ending too abruptly, without any time for decompression. The memories of his hours tied up on the bed, Hutch ravaging him with violent tenderness were racing through his brain. Starsky wanted to slow things down before they were forced into the maelstrom of a murder investigation.

"Take these." Hutch handed over two aspirin and some water to swallow them down with. His mind obviously still on everything that needed to be done, he paused and really looked his lover in the eye. "God, Starsky, you're in no shape for an hour in the car and then a crime scene…"

"I'll live." Starsky shrugged, grateful for the analgesics. He knew Hutch would never apologize for hitting him so hard that he was bruised over his entire buttocks and he didn't expect him to. It was all part of the BDSM scene. The punishment had been justified, and Starsky knew there would probably be more where that came from, whenever they reconnected for another 24 hours of bondage. The immediate soreness was just something he would have to deal with on his own and hide from any prying eyes. It was a private matter between he and Hutch, and no matter how much it hurt, for some unfathomable reason, he did want another day like this one had been. "Don't think about it, Hutch."

"This wasn't how I planned, little one." Hutch cupped Starsky's cheek, lingering over a stolen kiss. Starsky leaned into him, feasting on a second one. "We gotta get going." Hutch broke it off reluctantly, forehead still pressed against the curly haired man's.

"Hutch, the collar," Starsky reminded in a hushed tone. The leather band buckled around his neck was a sacred thing for the two of them, requiring more than a simple removal.

"I almost forgot. Kneel down." Hutch watched his partner drop down to a subservient position. 

Starsky tilted his head up to see the pride and possession in his eyes. 

Giving Starsky's face a gentle caress, Hutch asked, "Who do you belong to?"

"You, always and forever," Starsky whispered, surprised to find tears in his eyes. Kneeling, with his buttocks on his heels, was unpleasant with his current bruising, but he ignored the noxious stimuli assaulting him. It was Hutch's imprint on him, and therefore to be treasured.

Hutch gently unbuckled the collar, tucking it away in his overnight bag. Starsky sighed with mingled regrets. The collar had become so much a part of him in such a short time, but it felt good to be able to swallow unencumbered. 

"You want the chain back on?" Hutch asked, fishing the key and silver links out of an ornamental bowl on the front hall table.

"S'where it belongs." Starsky held himself straight and still as Hutch fastened the links around his neck. As usual, the metal was cold at first against his skin before his body temperature warmed up the chain.

"I will always love you," Hutch said softly then turned to leave as if one minute longer would break his resolve. 

Once they had loaded up the car and were on their way, Starsky plied his partner with the questions he'd kept banked until then. "How come Dobey asked for us? Who discovered the body? Why didn't the first detectives on the scene take the case?"

"Harry Winston should have taken the case but he refused." 

"He refused?" Starsky asked in astonishment. "Gee, all these years an' I didn't know I could refuse a case."

"On religious grounds."

"Oh, that's a crock a'shit."

"Winston told Dobey he couldn't be impartial due to his beliefs. That people like her were--quote--'colluding with the devil'." Hutch drove swiftly through the darkness, turning on the windshield wipers when rain began to spatter on the glass. "Needless to say, what could Dobey do? He called us."

"Colluding with the devil," Starsky repeated in a small voice. "That includes people like us."

"Starsky! He's a…Christian Fundamentalist, their beliefs are different that yours and mine, but no less important than…"

"I don’t need no lecture on religion tonight, thank you very much."

"No," Hutch agreed, "But if he thinks he can't work effectively to find her killer, maybe it's better that he is off the case."

"He's worked with prostitutes and drug dealers before." 

"He only recently transferred from robbery, maybe Homicide's not what he expected."

"You think we're doin'…. something evil?" 

"No. We're not hurting anyone and despite what some people like Winston think, it's not illegal." He glanced over at the man next to him, the stormy night so dark he could barely see him. "I love you. If you don’t want to…"

"No. I do." Starsky clenched his fists, wrestling his conflicting emotions into order. "It's just, this throws me for a loop. But I guess we're the best people for the job, huh?" He asked with sardonic humor.

"Starsky and Hutchinson, the bondage detectives." Hutch laughed, "Maybe we should have cards made up."

 

**************

 

Squirming in his seat, Starsky stared out the car window, beginning to recognize houses in the neighborhood they were driving through. They were close to their destination, and despite two aspirin and a pillow to sit on, he was distinctly uncomfortable. The prospect of viewing a murder scene wasn't what made the seasoned detective wince in pain. He didn't relish seeing a dead body, but it was a part of the job he'd grown somewhat used to. That he'd just gone through 24 hours of intense sex and a prolonged whipping probably had something to do with his discomfort but more to the point, it was the fact that he'd known the victim. Not well, that was true, but he'd seen her the night before, vibrant and alive. It was disturbing to realize that he would have to give a statement to that effect. How much could he and Hutch admit to? No way could anyone know about their relationship and what they had done immediately after leaving the restaurant where they'd seen Carlysle. What if he and Hutch were among the last people to have seen her alive? Maybe they weren't the best men for the job after all.

"You okay?" Hutch's voice pulled Starsky out of his reverie.

"Sure, don't I look it?" Starsky made an intentionally gruesome face for his partner's benefit.

"Like Paul Muni on a bad day," Hutch deadpanned, putting the car into park. There was the usual chaos of police vehicles blocking the narrow suburban street and a covey of neighborly onlookers peering from behind a barrier erected half way down the road. "Guess we're expected."

Flipping out their badges, the two detectives were immediately ushered past the stony-faced patrol officers guarding the outside of the house and allowed entrance onto the porch.

Starsky stepped across the threshold, not really relishing that the first time he got to see the inside of Carlysle's abode was because she was dead. The wet dreams he'd had about what might be hidden behind those white colonial style front doors were now all blown to smithereens. 

The foyer was elegantly appointed with a crystal chandelier, a Louis XIVth style table for calling cards and a delicately needlepointed chair gracing the entry as if waiting for the next client who would never arrive. There were police everywhere, the lab crew getting in the way of detectives sniffing out clues and the photographer grumpily telling everyone else to get out of his way. A liberal dusting of fingerprint powder marred nearly every visible surface, lending dirtiness to the interior that Starsky knew hadn't been there when the dominatrix was alive. The house must have been pristinely white at one time, with delicate, tasteful accents unexpected for a woman of Carlysle's profession.

Acknowledging several people he recognized Hutch followed Starsky down the hall that lead to the bedrooms, neither of them saying a word. 

"There you are." Edgar Callahan, Winston's partner was standing between two doors examining a handful of photos. Catching sight of his replacements, he looked relieved. "Harry was pissed enough that I had to stay and wait for you guys." 

"We thought we had the weekend off," Starsky said archly. His back was killing him and he hurt in places he'd never paid much attention to before. Hanging from his wrists had stretched muscles he rarely used and being anally penetrated twice in a day was distinctly painful when he wasn't used to it.

"Well, some of your immediate work's already been done," Callahan said with a slight sneer implying he thought the two of them had gotten off easy. 

"Can you give us a full report?" Hutch asked with forced politeness. 

"Elizabeth Carlysle, a dominatrix by trade, such as it is, was found slain by her housekeeper at approximately 3 o'clock this afternoon." He took a breath, glancing between the two detectives. "The body has already been taken to the morgue, but we took a bunch of nice vacations pics so you can see how the body looked in situ." He held up a Polaroid of a female body suspended from the ceiling by cuffed hands. A leather mask obscured her face, the slits for eyes, nose and mouth all zippered shut, which would have made it difficult if not impossible to breathe. What most probably had killed her, however, was a large ornamental Samurai sword protruding from her chest. Several other photos showed the same scene from different angles and the splatter pattern of the blood where it had sprayed over the walls and floor.

"Goes all the way through her, pinned the body to the wall behind., Callahan said callously. "Fuckin' hard to pull her down."

It was all too much. Starsky's belly had started doing flip-flops the minute he'd stepped into the woman's house, but the pictures nearly sent him over the edge. She'd been found suspended at three o'clock, precisely the same time he'd been in the exact same position, receiving eight punishment strokes with a leather strap. The walls around him seemed to be undulating like waves on a choppy sea, and he took a steadying breath to keep the bile in the back of his throat from crawling out his mouth. Needing something to support him, he put his hand cautiously against one of the wavering walls, relieved when it stopped moving enough to hold him up. He wiped sweat off his brow with a trembling hand, hoping Callahan didn't notice his odd behavior. It wasn't exactly good form for a seasoned homicide detective to pass out after seeing crime photos.

"W-who identified the body?" Starsky asked in such a relatively normal tone of voice only Hutch really noticed how truly rattled he was.

"The maid, Angela Rodriguez," Callahan answered, consulting a notepad.

"Starsk, why don't you go coordinate canvassing the neighbors?" Hutch took his partner by the arm and pointed him down the hall. "I'll poke around here, we'll get more done if we split up the work. We can compare notes in half an hour or so."

"Good plan," Starsky agreed, vastly comforted by the brief contact with his partner. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets to hide the jitters that still wracked his body. Grateful for the chance to exit before having to view the room where Carlysle had met her end, he left as quickly as possible without resorting to a mad dash out of the house.

"So, you interviewed the maid?" Hutch asked brightly, to distract the red haired detective.

"Was the one thing Winston agreed t'do." Callahan's expression showed plainly his opinion of his partner's defections. "We'll write this up in a prelim report, the rest is yours t'keep." He handed over the photos. "Rodriguez said she usually came by midafternoon and cleaned. Ms. Carlysle slept until two or three most days so nothing seemed different when she arrived today. She cleaned the living room and kitchen then came down the hall. If you notice…" He walked Hutch back down to where the hall branched off towards the living room. "You can't see Carlysle's room from here, even with the door open. Apparently Rodriguez was surprised when she looked in because the bed was still made up. Her mistress…" He smirked at the word.

"Listen, Callahan, keep your dirty mind out of it and just give me the statement without the comedy act," Hutch snapped, irritated with the detective's amusement at Carlysle's profession. While it wasn't Hutch's chosen work, he shared a common interest with the slain woman and the derision wasn't making things any easier. Maybe he was too close to the case, at that.

"Ms. Carlysle," the red head amended with a sour face, "was apparently a slob--bed was usually in a mess, clothes all over, towels wet on the bathroom floor. Everything was more or less how it had been when Rodriguez left the day before."

"And when was that?" 

"About seven thirty or eight."

Just before Hutch had seen Carlysle at the restaurant, he realized with a jolt. So, that put the banker type with the barrel chest she'd been with high on the list of suspects.

"What about her bl…" Hutch stopped himself before he revealed that he knew what Carlysle had been wearing last night. "Her clothes? Whatever she had on before she put on this leather garment she has on in the pictures."

"Lab guys found a black velvet dress, and a sexy little boned black corset on the floor of the closet. Bagged it for evidence."

"Okay, so the maid must not have looked in the closet? She was alarmed because the house was too clean--what then?"

Pointing to the room next to Carlysle's bedroom, Callahan continued, "she went into the office. Neat as a pin. She claims she was worried, so she went over to what was euphemistically called 'The Playroom'. Rodriguez had been told never to go in there, that the Mistress would clean it up. The door was always kept locked, but today it was wide open. She poked her head in and saw Carlysle hanging against the wall on the right, out of sight from the door cause of this armoire. Needless to say, she called the police right away. Didn't touch the body and looked like she needed a transfusion by the time we showed up."

"She knew it was her employer?" Hutch asked in confusion, examining the first photo more closely. Carlysle was completely dressed in a leather cat suit. With her head covered, it was impossible to say who it was.

"No, not until we took the mask off." He led the way into the dark paneled room, waving a hand at an assortment of whips hanging neatly on the wall. "Kinky, huh?"

"I think I can take it from here, Callahan. Thanks for the walk through." Forcing himself not to give into irrational anger at the other man, Hutch knew he couldn't give any sign that he was more than comfortable with the acoutrement of the room. "Unless you have anything else to add?"

"Take it away, maestro, be my guest. This one looks sordid and nasty."  
 _To you._ Hutch thought privately. Once Callahan had left him alone, he wandered around the playroom, his pulse quickening. What he wouldn't do to get his hands on some of the more exotic items he saw. If it weren't for the grisly nature of his visit, he'd be fascinated by the variety of bondage paraphernalia Carlysle had owned. She was almost as well stocked as Leather Jungle.

Walking slowly around the periphery to avoid getting his feet in the copious droplets of blood splattered around, Hutch eyed the gouge in the wall where the sword had been imbedded. Brownish blood was dried in smears and splotches all down the dark panel, but most of it pooled on the floor. A crude tape outline showed the position of the body before it had been removed.

Avoiding the network of strings stretched between the murder site and many of the bloodstains, Hutch examined the room from every angle, estimating where the killer might have stood and how he had done the deed. The strings would be a big help in triangulating the blood's trajectory and once the coroner was through with the corpse, they'd have a better idea of the killer's height and possibly handedness.

"Shit," Starsky swore softly, stepping into the playroom.

"I thought we were going to meet outside." Hutch hastened to pull Starsky out of the gruesome chamber. 

"S'been a half an hour." Starsky planted his feet, refusing to be deterred. "Hutch, I gotta see the crime scene, or I'm not much of an investigator." 

"Is it still raining out there?" Hutch asked, his voice gentle and caring, running his hand over Starsky's hair. Raindrops hung from each curl like fairy lights on a tree at Christmas. If anyone had looked in, the gesture was ostensibly to brush the water out of the dark locks, but both men needed the touch of skin to skin to reconfirm their connection. 

Starsky shivered with the contact when Hutch threaded his fingers through his hair, briefly massaging the scalp, then gave a yelp and pulled away when Hutch's fingers accidentally brushed against his newly pieced ear. The slightly swollen earlobe let out a renewed throb of pain for an instant before subsiding.

"Ow." Starsky rubbed his earlobe gingerly, turning the diamond in the fresh hole as he'd been instructed to do by the piercer. 

"Sorry." Hutch smiled ruefully, "Let's get to work here so we get out sooner."

"Any leads?" Starsky risked looking around, taking in the whips, chains and other acoutrement of the bondage trade. 

"I was just about to ask you the same thing." Hutch stuffed the Poloroids into his jacket pocket. Starsky didn't need to see anymore of them than he already had. "Any of the neighbors see anything?"

"They were used to seein' men come and go from here." Starsky raised his eyebrows with a Groucho-like leer. "Met the woman who made the original complaint. The one that brought us out here the first time."

"Did you thank her?" 

"I didn't think it was good form." He shrugged. "But she hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary for Carlysle's house on a Friday night."

"Meaning she had…. clients."

"Presumably the guy we saw at L'Etoile." 

"Her office is over there." Hutch pointed across the hall. "Maybe she kept an appointment diary with the client's names?"

"I'll check it out." Starsky headed to the designated office, diligently searching through the papers stacked in unsteady piles on the desk. "Not much of a filing system," he called out.

"Yeah, the maid told Winston that Carlysle is--was--a slob." Hutch gave up trying to find any more clues in the playroom and joined his partner. The office looked pretty standard, with filing cabinets and bookkeeping records. The wallpaper was a dusky rose color and the whole room echoed the rest of the house, decorated in a tasteful, feminine style. A bouquet of silk roses sat next to an up-to-date computer on the desk. Except for the gothic décor of the playroom, there was little anywhere else in the house to reveal Carlysle's profession. Then Hutch noticed the floor to ceiling bookshelves. Although many were ordinary novels and biographies, there was one whole section devoted to the bondage arts. The titles intrigued him and he wished he had more time to peruse her collection of erotic literature.

"Kinda strange, huh?" Starsky mused over that particular piece of information, "Ya'd think she'd be real neat, like compulsively."

"Like you are?" Hutch teased. Many's the time Starsky had groused about Hutch's habit of throwing trash into the back of the Torino.

"Here we go." Starsky located a small date book covered in rose print fabric. Flipping open the cover, he centered in on the pages for late January. "Terrific, she's got the names in some code." He pointed out the page for the day before which read 'P.B. at 7p.m.'

"There may be something more on this computer." Hutch touched the keyboard but he didn't have the skills to ferret out such information on his own. Glancing up at the dark haired man, he smiled. "Minnie."

"Minnie."

"Go tell the lab crew we need this computer loaded up. I think we've done about as much as we can until we come up with a real suspect." Hutch nodded with authority, "My money's on that banker guy. He was probably the last one to see her alive."

"No," Starsky stated vehemently, his conviction sudden but strong. "The one person it would NOT be was the banker."

"Who do you think, then? Colonel Mustard in the living with the lead pipe?" 

"Hutch!" Starsky flared, angered at not being taken seriously. "He was her client--her slave. He wouldn't have killed his Mistress."

Really listening to his partner, Hutch paused, "you're going to have a hell of a time convincing people of that one, pal. Most people would put him first on the list just because he let her beat on him."

"Assumably," Starsky agreed. "We don't know what their relationship was like. You told me some men worship women's feet. Just because…" He faltered, unsure how to express his thoughts, "Just because you do that to me…Damn, this is going to be hard."

"How are we going to talk around what we do and still explain why we may have a little more knowledge on this subject than we should have?" Hutch longed to pull Starsky into his arms, but it was not the right place and he could see from the stiff way the other man was moving that he still must hurt like hell.

"I just feel…he couldn't have hurt her like that. Destroyed her. This was vengeful." Starsky gestured at the playroom. "I saw him last night. He worshiped her. He'd have done anything for her. You don't have dinner with a person and then turn around and stab a sword through them."

"No. When you put it that way, no, it makes no sense. But he's still going to be seen as the main suspect."

"We've got to find out his name." Starsky shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Call the restaurant, maybe they'll have a record of his name-maybe he even paid with a credit card."

"I doubt it. I'm sure Carlysle paid." Hutch started thinking in terms of dominant and submissive as Starsky was. He was probably right, the slave would not have killed the mistress. If not, then who had, and why?  
"Where did that sword come from, anyway?"

"What?"

"It doesn't go with the house." Starsky took a deep breath, "Lemme see those photos again."

"Starsky, you don't…"

"I need to get a good look at the sword," he insisted. When Hutch handed over the Poloroids once more, Starsky grimaced, but looked at each photo more closely. "Most of the rooms I've seen are real girly, sorta French furniture I guess--isn't this a Japanese sword?"

"I think it is." Hutch acknowledged, impressed at Starsky's powers of observation.

"So where did she get a big ornamental Japanese sword? Shouldn't it have a whaddya call it…scabbard? Did the killer bring it? Or did Carlysle collect Japanese antiques or something? If so, where are the rest?"

"Very good questions."

After talking to the other police around the house they ascertained that there were no other Japanese swords or antiques in the rest of the house. The lab crew took the computer back to Parker Center for the resident expert, Minnie Kaplan, to have a look at it and the crime scene was secured for the night.

Starsky almost protested having to get back into the car, wondering how long it would take him to walk back to headquarters. He hurt all over and only wanted a bed and Hutch to curl up next to. Still, the police professional in him knew there were many more things that had to be done that night. 

"Hutch?" Starsky spoke as soon as the blond man took the car out of park. He needed some distraction to keep him mind off the soreness of his backside. "Remember what Carlysle told us the first time we met? If we wanted to look her up, she was listed…"

"Below Caress and above Domi-trex," Hutch quoted.

"Whoever killed her was real vindictive, like he wanted to humiliate her. Left her pinned up like that."

"On display." 

"Who d'you think would have the most to gain by eliminating Carlysle?"

"The competition."

"Exactly." Starsky smiled in smug satisfaction.

"Looks like we need to let our fingers do the walking through the yellow pages." Hutch grinned in return.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Despite the late hour, police headquarters was a sea of humanity. Vice had made a broad sweep on one of the busier avenues in the city, rounding up a slew of prostitutes, their johns and one very loud, expressive pimp in a snakeskin jacket and leopard print tee. Starsky and Hutch had to squeeze past the group to make it safely to the homicide detectives' squadroom. Even there they were not safe from the throng since officers booking the girl and boy hustlers had taken over half of the available space.

While Hutch was using a vacant telephone to call L'Etoile to garner any information on their banker suspect, Starsky hunted down the ever-illusive phone book to look up dominatrix. He laughed slightly to himself, wondering how many other jobs would pay a guy to do that. He finally located the well-thumbed book under a stack of mug books and flipped it open to the 'D's'.

"Starsky, man, I see you took the plunge!" Sergeant Jack Tuesday, the good-natured recipient of many Dragnet jokes due to the similarity of his name to the main character's slapped Starsky on the back with a friendly greeting.

"Huh?" Starsky asked confused, looking up from the yellow pages.

"The earring. You went under the gun."

"Oh, yeah." Starsky fingered the little jewel, glancing across the crowded room at the Hutch, still on the phone.

"I admire you, guy. I've been holding back because I thought it was kind of a swishy thing t'do. But when I see somebody like you get one…"

"Me?" Starsky echoed, both embarrassed and amazed to be considered a role model for the other detective.

"My girlfriend wants me to get one before we get married--so we can wear matching diamonds." He made a face, looking like he was undecided: still debating romantic thoughts of his girlfriend against the ramifications of male friends' opinions. "Maybe I will now." 

"Congratulations on the engagement," Starsky said automatically as Tuesday returned to his job of checking off the names and addresses of the prostitutes arrested.

Married? That was how Starsky felt sometimes. 

Married to Hutch. Not just his slave, because that was only on rare occasions--two so far. But he and Hutch were linked body and mind. And now Hutch had given him this earring as a symbol of that love. It was like he had a piece of Hutch inside him at all times, piercing his soul.

Turning the diamond that sparkled in his left ear, Starsky focused on the fine print in the phone book. There was no listing for dominatrix, but when he looked up adult entertainers he hit the jackpot. Astonished at the sheer number there were in the greater Los Angeles county, he had to run his finger carefully down the page to read them all. It was by all appearances a lucrative field to get into. Many of the ads featured a small picture of the women in question, urging men to call if they wanted companionship, exotic dancing for all occasions, and even phone conversations with live nude models. Chuckling, Starsky wondered how you could tell whether the live models were nude or not, when they were talking on the phone. It was all a fantasy, no doubt about it. When he hit Carlysle's listing, it was much more discrete, just her single name and phone number. As mentioned, Caress was on the line above and Domi-trex the one below. 

"What'd Tuesday want?" Hutch asked, looking over his partner's shoulder.

"Liked my earring." Starsky copied the phone numbers out onto a fresh piece of paper.

"I like it, too," Hutch murmured into his ear.

"You wanna call these ladies, or should I?" Starsky glanced up, meeting Hutch's eyes warmly. The last thing he was in the mood for was calling a dominatrix at ten thirty at night. He'd have preferred to go home with Hutch and curl up at Venice Place with some hot coffee laced with just enough whiskey to make him sleepy and forget about the burning in his ass. With all luck the two women would be otherwise engaged and he and Hutch could knock off for the night. It was probably the height of the work hour for a dominatrix, anyway. And he seriously needed a drink.

They split the job and each called one, but as Starsky had predicted, only got answering machines. "So, that's a bust for now," he complained. "Whatcha get from the restaurant?"  
"Pretty much what I expected." Hutch settled in the chair beside where Starsky perched on the edge of the desk. " Remember she said no accounts?"

"Everything off the cuff." Starsky laughed at the pun she'd made, still trying to get his mind around the concept of her being dead. 

"Carlysle always pays in cash, but she does go there fairly often. The manager was really upset to hear she'd been killed. She has taken our Banker friend there on at least two other occasions but also was seen with a variety of other gentlemen. I got the impression that the manager was fully aware of what she did for a living."

"It kinda showed, didn't it?" Starsky raised his eyebrows. "I mean she was gorgeous and…fierce. Like some queen or somethin', you almost had to bow down to her."

"But you didn't notice much about her, huh?" Hutch teased.

"I wasn't…" Starsky started to protest then saw the laughter on Hutch's mouth and longed to kiss it. "You think you're pretty funny, don't you?"

"Usually, do, yep." Hutch patted his typewriter "Start grinding out the reports and we can get something t'drink before midnight."

"Slave driver," Starsky muttered.

 

++++++++++

"Wanna get something to eat?" Hutch proposed tiredly. Starsky had taken over driving the Torino despite his discomfort, and Hutch lay back sleepily in the passenger seat.

"Not very hungry," Starsky sighed, sitting up as stiffly as possible, but he was too sore. Every position he tried reminded him of what had happened earlier in the day. That, compounded with Carlysle's murder, was wearing him down, pulling him into a well of sorrow. He was determined not to submit to depression, but the dark, cool nothingness of melancholia was seductive. Giving in would be so easy to do, to allow the images that kept flashing in his brain to take over and haunt him. 

"Starsky, you in particular had a really hard day. You need to…"

"Yeah, and whose fault was that?" Starsky snapped.

"I wasn't in Malibu by myself, pal," Hutch retorted. "Let's go over to Huggy's, get something to eat and drink…"

"You always gotta tell me what to do?"

"Fine." Hutch put a hand on the door handle, "I'll get one of the black and whites to drive me home since I don't have my car."

Silent, Starsky stared straight ahead, the muscles in his jaw flexing, "Like you said, it was a long day. You want Huggy's? S'okay with me. I'll drive you back to your car later."  
"How 'bout we just go back to my place later?" Hutch's voice was barely audible over the roar of the car engine.

Even though it was after midnight, The Pits was in full swing, the music so loud the strident back beat could be heard the minute the two men got out of the car. As usual, they had parked the Torino behind Huggy's bar, entering the establishment from the rear. Marty, an ex-con with a flair for burgers, waved from behind his grill as they walked by.

"Well, well, well, look who's here in the witchin' hour. Didn't expect t'see you two in here tonight," Huggy greeted coolly, hands on his skinny, purple jeans clad hips. "Beers?"

"Got anything stronger?" Starsky asked belligerently.

"You want scotch or vodka, Starsky?" Huggy regarded him in surprise. 

"Scotch on the rocks."

"Scratch that and bring two beers." Hutch took a protesting Starsky by the arm and propelled him to a back table out of the way of several couples dancing with enthusiastic abandon. "As soon as you can serve 'em up."  
ß  
"Yes, sir,” Huggy answered tightly, maneuvering expertly between the dancers to head for the bar.

"You're not the master here, Hutch," Starsky snarled, glad that the music was loud enough no one would pay attention to them.

"And you don't need to get drunk on top of everything else."

"I just need to kill the pain for a while," Starsky muttered, not really meaning the ache in his backside.

"Starsky…" Hutch began but was interrupted by the black man's return.

"Though you two were off spending some time together." Huggy handed over two draught brews. 

Starsky immediately took a hefty swallow from one of the old-fashioned beer steins, wiping the foamy residue off his lip afterwards. "What d'you know, Huggy?" he asked, his hackles up.

"On what subject, Starsky?" Huggy crossed his arms, his face suddenly devoid of expression. "I'm a veritable encyclopedia, a font of information on almost anything you could name."

"About us."

"Starsky," Hutch repeated a warning implicit in his tone.

"I only know what you tell me, buddy," Huggy responded harshly, "and you ain't told me much."

"What do you think?" Hutch said more calmly.

Huggy studied the two men sitting so close together at the table, their bodies nearly touching despite the antagonistic vibes coming from the dark haired one, and pursed his lips, "My honest opinion?" He lowered his voice when the song on the jukebox changed to a slow sensual dance tune, "You two got something going on; it's plain to see. Love, unless my arrow's completely off the target."

Starsky visibly relaxed as if the air that had puffed him out whooshed away all at once. He turned to look at Hutch, who smiled, and then nodded at Huggy, "Yeah." 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Huggy exploded.

"We were concerned…" Hutch started, placing a discrete hand on Starsky's thigh under the table, "And still are concerned how the brass would view it."

"It's not their business, but I hear where you're comin' from." Huggy commandeered a chair, his mouth quirked into a smile. "How long has it been?"

This time it was Starsky's turn to smile, "Huggy, you must pick up on the cues pretty slow--over two years."

The bar owner gaped at his friends, finally taking a long drink from Hutch's untouched beer. "You mean…?" Pointing an accusing finger at Starsky's chest, he directed the question at Hutch. "You two been dancing the two humped camel for two years and you didn't let me know?"

"What can we say? We wanted to stay under the radar." Hutch shrugged, appropriating Starsky's beer with an amused glance at his lover. He drained half the stein.

"Hey, get your own," Starsky groused, taking it back so he could have the last drops.

"Then something's changed real recent," Huggy mused, scratching his head.

"You just finally caught on." Starsky stared down at his empty glass, wanting a gallon more. Enough alcohol to erase the image of Carlysle's body suspended by her wrists with a sword piercing her chest superimposed over memories of his own ordeal. The feel of his aching arms supporting the weight of his whole body and stinging slap of the strap against his back were so real he had to bite back a gasp of pain. 

"Starsky?" Hutch was sitting so close he felt Starsky's flinch.

"S'okay," Starsky lied. "Another round, Hug?"

"Comin' up, gents," he promised, disappearing amongst the dancers.

"Now that Huggy knows, we're gonna have to tell Dobey something," Hutch said carefully. Starsky listened to his partner, but he was tense to the point of rigidity. "At least explain that we saw Carlysle and the Banker at L'Etoile before it comes out in the papers or something."

"In the morning." 

"Starsky, you wanna talk about anything?"  
"Not right now, Hutch, just not now." He shook his head. When Huggy returned with the beers, Starsky drained his in one gulp and waited impatiently for Hutch to drink his.  
"I can't believe you guys played it so close to the vest." Huggy held his hands as if giving the two of them a blessing, "And I never suspected a thing. But Starsky's necklace, a diamond earring…s'like you two got married or something."

"If you could call it that." Starsky stalked off, knowing Hutch would follow.

"What's up with him?" Huggy flipped his hands up in the universal gesture of confusion.

"I wish I knew." Hutch threw a few bills on the table, running out after Starsky. The Torino was already growling when he pulled open the car door and slid into the seat. Starsky put on the gas, the car taking off with such a burst of speed Hutch had to hang on to the dash.

 

Flicking on the light at Venice Place, Hutch faced Starsky, angry and confused. "You barely speak a syllable on the way home, you were rude to Huggy, who was really happy for us…what's going on?"

"We shouldn't a'taken this case." Starsky started ripping off his clothes with such frantic speed it hampered his movements. When the pants zipper caught on his pubic hair he swore, tears in his eyes. Hutch barely breathed, knowing this was not the time to offer a hand and not at all sure how to defuse the bomb his partner had become. Luckily Starsky freed the zipper teeth and wrenched the fly open, dropping his pants without a thought to his nakedness. 

"You're the one who said we were the best suited to investigate Carlysle's murder."

"So I was wrong, sue me," Starsky retorted, his motions still jerky and uncoordinated as he hauled the turtleneck over his head. "What d'you want, huh? I can't do this, Hutch. Not right now."

"It's obviously more than the case." Hutch tried to sound reasonable but he was thoroughly confused. "What's wrong?"

"I hurt. I can't even stand the feel of my clothes! I'm tired."

"Come to bed."

"Why? You like what you see?" Starsky held out his arms to reveal his nakedness in all its glory. Turning around like a model on the runway he showed off the long black and blue bruises on his backside. "You want some more of this?" 

"Starsky, relax," Hutch sighed, "It wasn't a come on, just…it's time to get some rest. I'll rub your neck."

"Don't touch me." Starsky's anger was white hot, sucking the oxygen from the room like a fast moving fire. He backed up, keeping a distance between them.

"Starsky, why…?" Hutch's hand shook as he unbuckled his shoulder holster, needing to do something ordinary to keep himself from panicking. How had things gone so wrong so fast?

"Because you beat me with a strap!" 

Time froze, the incendiary heat dissolving as ice slicked the walls of the oceanside apartment. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet so suddenly Starsky hugged his bare arms, goosebumps pebbling his skin. He stared in horror at his best friend, the anger gone with one irrevocable sentence.

Hutch was too stunned to react in any appropriate, acceptable way. What was appropriate anyway? He had done what he was accused of, there was no denying it. But the context of the beating had changed, morphed into a whole different beast. The BDSM wasn't supposed to impinge on their real lives. It was separate and special. Only now the two worlds had collided with the impact of a multi-car pile up and they'd never be untangled.

"Oh, Hutch," Starsky whispered white-faced.

Hutch turned his back, walking with as much dignity as he could muster into his bedroom to shed his jacket and shirt. He supposed he should come back with a snide, sarcastic remark, but Starsky's words hurt him as much as the strap had hurt Starsky.

"I didn't…I shouldn't a' said that." 

"Then why did you?" Hutch's voice was so remote he could have been standing on the moon.

"I don't know." Starsky dropped to his knees, drained. "Carlysle…she was hanging there. The maid found her at three o'clock."

Totally mystified by Starsky's abrupt change of subject, Hutch looked across the void that isolated them. "What does that have to do with you--us?"

"I was like her!" Starsky shouted, "Hanging there…I thought I could keep everything apart, but I can't."

"Oh, Starsk." Hutch crossed the apartment in two strides, drawing Starsky in to his body, threading fingers in the dark curls. Starsky wrapped his arms around Hutch's thighs, never rising from his knees. 

"Carlysle an' me, I keep seeing her hanging there."

"Like you were." The puzzle pieces dropped into place, and Hutch saw Starsky with his arms chained above his head. He'd looked so fearless and yet so vulnerable there, putting every inch of trust in his master. Had Hutch betrayed that trust? They'd been in a zone together; both flying with the raw emotions of BDSM, not looking ahead to what would result from their actions. Or Hutch's actions as he'd swung the leather strap, inflicting pain. Starsky had accepted the consequences, hadn't he? Why was he changing his mind now? 

"I thought I could keep everything separate, but the cop and the slave are blurring together. I can feel what she musta felt, Hutch. I know how her arms hurt an' then that feeling of something slamming into her chest. I don't think the impact of a bullet and a sword would really feel that much different in the end. You can't breathe…the pain is incredible."

No matter that Starsky was mixing two different events in his life, Hutch could decipher the code. It didn't really have anything to do with Hutch using the strap on him and everything to do with the depth of Starsky's empathy with the victim.

"Come to bed," Hutch urged, pulling Starsky's unresisting body to a stand. "Come to bed, we need to talk."

"I don't wanna talk," Starsky insisted wearily, leaning on his partner. "I just don't wanna hurt anymore."

"I love you, you know that? More than I can ever say. I would…" Hutch kissed Starsky tenderly. He'd almost said he'd never hurt him, but that wasn't true. If they continued with bondage he would hurt him again. Everything was so complicated. In their regular lives, as detectives and lovers, he'd never willingly hurt Starsky for anything in the world but in the world of BDSM, pain was a part of the game. Not the only part certainly, but one they'd already dabbled in. Could they change gears now?

"You were the master, I was the slave," Starsky said tonelessly. "It made sense this afternoon, I was that person then and now I'm not. I'm a cop but it's all too close." He laughed hollowly, "I'm not makin' any sense."

"It makes sense to me."

"Make me feel good, Hutch."

Hutch lay back on the bed, spreading his legs wide with his knees bent. "Come in where it's warm, Starsk."

Knuckling the stray tear that had leaked from his eyes, Starsky knelt between the blond's legs, reverently kissing the inside of one thigh. Hutch sighed at the sweetness of the kiss; amazed at the gauntlet of emotion they'd run in such a short space of time. There was still much to discuss but not until Carlysle's murder was solved. He didn't want to dwell on the 'what ifs' now, when everything was so unresolved.

Looking thoroughly spent Starsky seemed content to take his time petting and stroking Hutch's skin. His hands moved lazily down the long column of Hutch's thighs, finally coming upon the eager dick standing there as if he'd not expected it to find it. Hutch sighed with contentment as Starsky wrapped one hand around his member, sliding his hand up and down the shaft, creating a slow steady friction. 

Coming to a sitting position, Hutch reached over to cradle Starsky's cock, smiling when it started to blossom with his touch. Starsky's eyes met his for the first time, hope shining out that they could weather any storm together. Unconsciously synchronizing their movements, Starsky and Hutch increased their speed, building to a simultaneous climax. It wasn't the kind with rockets and screaming bombs exploding, but a quiet, truly satisfying one that cleaved them securely together.

His arms around Starsky, Hutch relaxed against the pillows with his partner's head fitted into the curve of his shoulder, feeling Starsky's breath on his chest. "I didn't plan for the rush out of the Malibu house like that," he whispered into the curly hair. "I had more of this kind of thing in mind."

"Me, too." Starsky sighed, "You had a plan?"

"Always." Hutch touched his lips to the forehead so close by, "You were in no shape to have to go to a crime scene. I meant to do some cuddling."

"Sounds like I'm some kind of cream."

"Starsky, that was way too leading, I'm not even going there." Hutch chuckled deep in his throat. "Turn over a little, let me take a look at what I did."

No longer angry, Starsky flopped over on his belly, craning his neck to see the bruises.

Hutch ran his hand lightly over the black and blue marks decorating Starsky's perfectly rounded buttocks, then kissed each cheek tenderly. "In the BDSM scene, marks like these are to show exactly who you are. A slave. One loved with all his heart by his master."

"You've seen marks like this before?" Starsky asked softly.

"Never like this. Nobody else's ever meant the same to me as yours." Hutch drew his love into his arms once again until they fell asleep, entwined together.

 

+++++++++++++++++

"Captain?" Hutch stood in the office door, conscious of Starsky's body directly behind him. Starsky was very subdued this morning but his wildly fluctuating emotions had calmed. "We need to talk to you."

"C'mon in." Harold Dobey waved a hand, still hunched over an expense report. "What can you tell me about this woman Carlysle's murder?"

As if he'd dropped momentarily back into a submissive mode, Starsky seemed perfectly content to have Hutch explain their situation to Dobey. He smiled encouraging when Hutch glanced his way.

"Captain, we saw Elizabeth Carlysle the night before she was murdered, at L'Etoile," Hutch said. Starsky was sprawled bonelessly in a chair, examining his fingernails as if they were far more important than the matter at hand. "She was with a man--we are trying to get his name, but her client book was in code and Minnie is right now trying to break into her computer to ferret out the list."

"What were you two doing there in the first place?" Dobey asked, his attention now focused completely on the two of them. "That place is a little out of your price range, isn't it?"

Clearing his throat and mentally throwing daggers at Starsky, Hutch continued. "We were…we have been…"

"Havin' dinner." Starsky finally entered the conversation, "We just didn't want anybody accusin' us of withholding pertinent information or anything."

"Did you speak to her?"

"Hutch did," Starsky smirked.

"She came over to the table and said hello," Hutch added, wondering how close to the truth they were going to have to go with Dobey. Now that Huggy knew he wasn't sure whether he was all that sangfroid about telling their boss. "She recognized us from the time we questioned her about her business. It was an innocuous conversation, nothing that could possibly pertain to this case."

"What about her date?" Dobey fiddled with a pencil absently.

"Client," Starsky corrected.

"Whatever. Did you talk to him?"

"No."

"So you two just happened to be at an expensive restaurant chatting with a dominatrix only hours before her death."

"There's no established time of death yet," Hutch pointed out.

"Yes, there is." Dobey pulled a coroner's report out from under the expense sheets. "She died between midnight and three a.m. Had duck and wild rice for dinner--no liquor found in her system and she hadn't had sex." He tapped the paper, "That's the one I find the most perplexing. Here was a woman in the business of selling sex and she _didn’t_ have any with her most recent client?"

"Actually, Captain, Dommes rarely have sex with their clients." Hutch picked up the autopsy. 

"Explain that to me." 

"The reason we couldn't press charges against Carlysle the first time we went out there is because she's _not_ a prostitute. As a dominatrix, she falls into a gray area lumped together with sex therapists in most people's definition. She's helping her clients with specific…uh, fetishes and certain…" He groped for a clinical explanation that wouldn't sound like he knew more than he should.

"Needs and unusual arousal techniques," Starsky finished.

"And how do you two know so much about this?"

"Been readin' up." Starsky nodded. "Hutch got some books." 

That much was true, Hutch sighed in relief, pretending to study the autopsy. The almost indecipherable medicalese used to describe the body and the nature of her wounds boiled down to killed by lack of oxygen to the brain and massive hemorrhage from the sword straight through her heart. Starsky was right; this was a murder of vengeance.

"So, you two met this woman and were so interested in her profession you bought books to read up on it, then happened to run into her again a few weeks later in a restaurant that requires the kind of clothes I don't even think Starsky owns?" Dobey growled.

"I got a new suit," Starsky defended himself. Hutch snuck a glance at him; Starsky was wearing his usual work attire, jeans and a turtleneck t-shirt.

"Just explain to me again what you two were doing there?"

Hutch raised his eyes from the gruesome passages he'd been reading, caught like a deer in the headlights. He couldn't quite come up with a plausible answer that wouldn't put them in deep shit with Internal Affairs and just about every morals clause the Los Angeles County police department had.

"Captain, this can't go any further than this office." Starsky sat up straighter, looking unusually serious.

"What's this about?"

Realizing that Starsky was about to spill the beans, Hutch almost stopped him, putting a hand on his shoulder to rein him in, but then changed it to a gesture of support. It was better to have it come out this way instead of in some sensationalized newspaper article. And the revelation that they were a couple would probably be so astonishing Dobey was unlikely to delve any deeper into their relationship.

"We're together," Starsky blurted as if he needed to get it out as quickly as possible.

"You're gay?" Dobey asked, stunned.

"I dunno," Starsky said honestly. "Basically it's the first time either of us has been with a guy."

That wasn't entirely true, Hutch mused. He'd dabbled in both sexes in college and while married to Vanessa when they went to BDSM parties, but none of the men in his past had meant anything until Starsky.

"How long has this been going on?" The Captain had a grim expression on his round face.

"Since just after Starsky was shot," Hutch answered quietly, giving Starsky's shoulder a squeeze. Starsky reached up and covered the hand briefly with his own, then wiped his palms on his thighs nervously.

"Well. I commend you two for keeping it quiet." Dobey still looked shocked, as if they had truly rocked his world. "I never suspected a thing. You've always been like conjoined twins…but…this? Why did you decide to reveal this to me now?"

"Because we saw Carlysle. We can't lie about that," Hutch continued. "And we may have to give sworn statements to that effect, if it comes down to that."

"We could say we were there celebratin' the Chinese New Year," Starsky piped up, "It's this week. It's a very important holiday in some circles."

 

"Not yours." Dobey made a face. "Just as long as it wasn't a date, I can cover for the rest. Nobody, least of all IA, needs to know about the personal lives of my detectives. But you two better keep it as quiet as you have or all hell will break loose."

"We're more than aware of that," Hutch agreed soberly, thinking he didn't know the half of it. "Thank you, Captain." 

"Now get out of here and solve that woman's murder. No matter what Winston thought about it, she was still a citizen and is entitled to a full police investigation."

"We agree totally." Starsky nodded emphatically until the curls on the top of his head bounced in agreement.

"C'mon, Starsk, let's see what Minnie has for us." Hutch grabbed his arm, hauling him out of the office. "You're in a better mood this morning."

"I had some help in that area." Starsky grinned slyly over his shoulder, heading for the candy machine before going over to Minnie's office.

"Yeah, I remember." Hutch laughed. They'd awakened curled around each other like two puppies, their legs in a love knot. One thing had lead to another and Hutch had found himself impaled on his partner's dick with the shower water cascading down his face. It was one of the best mornings he'd had in a long time. "Starsky, cereal and toast weren't enough for you? You need a candy bar this early in the morning?"

"I expended a lot of energy this morning, gotta keep up my strength."

Hutch leaned in very close as if examing the other options the candy machine had to offer, "If I was master every day, we'd start out the morning pretty much the same as today, but there'd be some modifications in your diet, buster." As Starsky's money dropped into the inner workings of the machine, Hutch punched the button for trail mix.

"Hey!" Starsky protested, waving his hand at what dropped down into the bottom of the machine. "That isn't what I wanted."

"It's what I wanted." Hutch grinned evilly at him, popping nuts and raisins into his mouth. He fished out some brightly colored candies with a long finger. "But I'll share. There's M & M's in here."

"That's more like it." Starsky took the proffered candy somewhat mollified. He followed Hutch down the hall munching on his snack.

Minnie Kaplan was hunched over the keyboard of Carlysle's computer, a frown on her sweet face and a pencil dangling so precariously behind her ear that it fell off when she raised her head to greet Starsky and Hutch.

"How's my favorite woman today, huh?" Starsky retrieved the pencil from the floor and handed it back to her.

"Starsky, you are such a flirt." Minnie giggled, her dark eyes star bright behind thick-framed glasses. "Whoever marries you is gonna have to lock you up in chains to stop that roving eye."

"I'll say," Hutch said dryly, feeling a smug satisfaction when Starsky blushed. Minnie had hit it amazingly close to the mark. "What have you got for us, Minnie?"

"Found two lists that are probably what you're looking for. One is a regular address book with twenty five names--all men." Minnie punched a key, displaying two rows of names on the monitor.

"She musta kept herself busy," Starsky said, bending down to read over her shoulder.

"The second is a list of cute nicknames. Like you'd use for a lover." Minnie smirked, "Teddy Bear, Angel boy…. um…" She pushed her glasses up her nose, pulling a long sheet of paper out of the printer and tearing the paper along the perforated lines to make separate sheets. "Here it is. Little Tiger and my favorite--Pink Bunny."

"Geeze, ya think she called her clients that?" Starsky laughed.

"What, nobody ever called you Cupcake or Little One?" Hutch teased, getting a second blush out of his victim in under five minutes. Starsky glared at him, but he was also trying hard to keep from laughing. Luckily Minnie was still bent over the print out and didn't notice the exchange.

"Hutch," Starsky warned. "Lemme see that list, Minnie--no wait, both of 'em."

"What are you thinking about, buddy?" Hutch asked, using a much more mundane nickname for public consumption. He recognized Starsky's intense expression, that of a bloodhound on the scent. 

"There must be a way to match up the two lists," Starsky mused. "Where's Carlysle's date book?"

"I'll go over to evidence and sign it out," Hutch offered. He looked back as he left, smiling at the sight of the two dark curly heads bent close together comparing the lists.

He had no worries about Starsky's loyalty, not with Minnie anyway. But the argument from the night before still scared him. What exactly did Starsky think about being hit with a strap? Had it ruined the bond between them or just changed the dynamic?

By the time Hutch returned, both Minnie and Starsky were talking excitedly and pointing out various things on the print out. Knowing he must have missed a breakthrough, Hutch sat down next to the desk expectantly. He looked up into his lover's dark blue eyes, feeling a thrill of happiness when Starsky grinned fondly at him. "You found something?" Hutch asked.

"The curious thing about the address roster is that it isn't in alphabetical order." Minnie explained. "We _think_ it might be the order of when the clients came to her."

"So Michael Swanson was her first," Starsky took up the recital, holding up the list of nicknames. "Gumdrop is the first name on this one. Ergo, Michael Swanson is Gumdrop."

"Ergo? Who are you? Sherlock Holmes?" Hutch teased, just to see Starsky's face light up with another intimate smile. "Let me see this. That would make Peter Delancy Sweetcheeks?" He deciphered, beginning to feel the contagious excitement.

"Isn't he on the school board?" Minnie asked to no one in particular. "But that doesn't help you figure out the name of her last client, the one on Friday night."

"Yes, it does. That's where the date book comes in," Starsky declared. He picked up the floral bound book with a flourish. It was an 18-month calendar so the book began with January of the previous year and went through July of the current year. "Carlysle hadn't been around very long before Hutch an' me met her the first week in January. So, presto--" He flipped the calendar pages until he found several notations on mid November. "See here? She's got appointments with carpenters and the phone company.   
Either she was movin' in or startin' up her business. Then…" He turned a few more pages.   
"December 15 she had 'G' at 6 p.m. with 'heavy training' written underneath."

"'G' for Gumdrop, or Michael Swanson," Hutch said softly once again amazed at Starsky's intuitive powers. Sure enough, as they compared the lists with the date book, a more complete story of Carlysle's business was revealed. Some men came only once or twice. Gumdrop was a regular. Early in January 'P.B.' started showing up, appearing numerous times ending with the last entry on the fateful night in question. Hutch was struck by the fact that P.B's first session was the exact same Saturday that he and Starsky had entered the BDSM scene. Synchronicity of an ironic sort. They were oddly bound together with the Banker by their mutual fetishes. 

"And P.B. would be Pink Bunny, number 19," Minnie guessed, "And his real name is…" Starsky imitated a drum roll, slapping his thighs.

Trying not to be distracted by his partner's antics and the stray thought of having his own hands on those jean clad thighs, Hutch slid a finger down the second list. "Everett Buchanon, 779 Allansdale Way. Apartment 4."

"We have our man!" Starsky crowed.

 

++++++++++

On the drive over there was considerable debate about how to approach Mr. Buchanon. It would have been much easier to question him at his place of business, wherever that was but since it was Sunday his family might be around the apartment, which complicated matters. Neither detective wanted to bring up the subject of his submission in front of a probably oblivious wife. In truth, Everett Buchanon was the prime suspect in a murder case even though Starsky did not consider him so. Therefore they could be walking a tricky path between accusing him of a crime and possibly revealing more about his private life than he would want his family to know.

"This whole thing makes me itchy," Starsky fidgeted. His backside still hurt though not nearly as badly as the night before. He was beginning to accept the idea that if they continued with BDSM, he might have this level of discomfort frequently. It was a disturbing revelation and one that demanded further thought. Even if he wanted the two parts of his life to be totally segregated from one another, there was no way around the fact that it was an impossible feat. If he got beaten, he was going to hurt for several days afterwards. That was a given. Could he live with that was the question. He almost wanted to take Everett Buchanon aside and ask him how he dealt with it. How many people had he let in on his dirty little secret? How did he go on with normal activities, remembering what had happened a day or a night before when he'd been tied, or tortured or beaten? It was scary. 

Starsky had been scared enough on that first Saturday afternoon, coming in out of the rain to meet Hutch in a stranger's home to embark on a totally new adventure in their sex lives. Bondage. Submission. Acceptance that he had no control. Those were nothing compared to the realization that he had to live his regular life as normally as possible even when he was still bearing his master's marks.

"Just as long as you don't scratch." Hutch glanced over at his partner, then back to the road. He was driving the battered LTD since they had detoured over to Leather Jungle after breakfast to retrieve his car before they'd driven into work. The Torino was now parked at Parker Center for the day.

"There's Allansdale Way." Starsky pointed to a street lined with old palm trees. 

This was the kind of neighborhood where movie stars used to live before they purchased their big houses. Old elegant apartment buildings sat back from the sidewalk, fronted by expanses of lawn and little brick paths. Buchanon's complex proved to be a building whose heyday must have been the roaring twenties. The plasterwork was carved with cavorting nymphs and geometric borders. Marble steps led up to the glass front door accented with ornate gilt framing.

The first dilemma was how to get inside. A peek through the door revealed no doorman sitting inside, so they had to make do with the intercom. Long experience with those infernal contraptions made them leery of announcing themselves. That usually just resulted in the subject in question taking a powder out the back way. 

"Think if we ring he'll let us in?" Starsky asked mischievously. He rang a number at random, hoping that some unsuspecting soul would just buzz them in without asking who it was.

Hutch waited expectantly but there was no answering buzz or indignant voice over the speaker. "Number two's not at home." He was just about to press another button, but stopped with his finger extended. 

Starsky followed Hutch's gaze, looking past the filigree work on the glass front door to the lobby. Everett Buchanan was just coming out of the old fashioned elevator at the back of the room.

"You mean we got lucky?" Starsky squeaked.

"This goes right, partner and you definitely will get lucky," Hutch promised, his voice husky with sex.

"I'm rubbing my rabbit's foot right now." Starsky could feel himself responding to Hutch's words, the ardor in his blood percolating. He knew without a shred of doubt that this was his night to be the aggressor. This only added to the sudden discomfort in the fit of his pants, and he tried thinking about ice cubes and really boring stakeouts to keep his treacherous body in line. It made things infinitely more difficult to interrogate a suspect with a boner.

"Mr. Everett Buchanon?" Hutch asked pleasantly holding up his detective's shield. "I'm Detective Sergeant Hutchinson, and this is Detective Sergeant Starsky, may we have a word with you?"

"What's this about?" The barrel chested man looked between the two men and then his heavy lidded gray eyes widened with obvious recognition. 

Starsky realized with a tight little twist in his belly that just as he'd recognized Buchanan as a submissive when he'd seen him across the room at L'Etoile, Buchanon could probably see the same thing in him. The look in the banker's eyes said he knew exactly who Starsky was. It took a hell of a lot of self-control for Starsky to keep a professional decorum. His guts were churning, his mouth dry. Was it that obvious to everyone or was it simply because Buchanon had seen them in the restaurant? 

"It's about her, isn't it?" Buchanon whispered hoarsely, "Carlysle? Because of the other night?"

"You've heard she was murdered?" Hutch asked carefully.

"I've been in a quandary all morning. I'm afraid to ask anyone about it, because they'd wonder why I…but my God…who could do that to her? She…I adored her."

"Is there somewhere we could talk to you?" Starsky found his voice at last.

"Yes, this isn't exactly private is it? Not in my apartment, my wife is upstairs, but I had to get away. Actually, I'm almost glad you came, I needed to talk to someone about her." He scrutinized them more closely, "You're cops but you're…?" He let the question dangle, obviously too polite to say what they all had in common.

"That's not the issue right now," Hutch said with authority. "Will you go down to headquarters with us?"

"Am I under arrest?"

"No, you are a suspect but this is just preliminary questioning," Hutch answered, his arms crossed across his chest.

"I…You suspect me of killing her?" He looked anguished, "I would never have touched her like that--ever."

Glancing at Hutch, Starsky conveyed a sort of I-told-you-so without ever saying a word, "We believe you wouldn't harm her, we still need to ask some questions. Where can you talk to us if your apartment is off limits?"

"Can we go to my club? That's where I was headed. They have…private rooms." He laughed nervously, "Well, that came out wrong. They have places where we can talk privately."

"Terrific, we'll drive." Starsky gestured to the car with a grimace. "The city's finest accommodations." 

Except for Buchanan's quiet directions, the ride over was silent. His club turned out to be one of the ritziest in the city, a building Starsky doubted he would have been allowed inside under any other circumstances. They had a well-known policy excluding those of the wrong color or religion. The doorman practically sneered when Starsky and Hutch followed Buchanon into the inner sanctum, but let them through without comment.

After Buchanon had ordered a whiskey on the rocks for himself, they were entrenched in a small room with heavy draperies and leather furniture. Just the place for a discussion about a dominatrix.

"I had nothing to do with her…death," Buchanon began without preamble. "When I heard the news this morning I was distraught. She was amazing…but you must have known?"

"We had met her, nothing more," Hutch stressed, "We need to know an exact time table of your whereabouts and what you did with her."

"When did you get together? At her house or at the restaurant?" Starsky added.

"I've gone to L'Etoile with her before," he answered, talking a healthy drink of the alcohol. "We met at her home and got to the restaurant about eight o'clock. We stayed an hour or so."

"What did you have to eat?" Hutch asked, pulling out a pad of paper to take notes on. As usual he couldn't locate a pen. Starsky produced the one from his leather jacket pocket that he kept specifically just for Hutch. His blond partner flashed him an apologetic grin and started jotting down what Buchanon told them.

"She ordered duck and wild rice," he said, verifying what the coroner's report had said. "She always orders for the both of us. I eat what's left."

Starsky held his tongue, feeling vaguely queasy. Was this what submission was supposed to be like? Totally submerging any shred of decision making and bowing to the dominant's every whim?

"After you left?" Hutch prompted.

"We went to her place. Do I have to describe what we do there?" He sounded desperate and Starsky didn't blame him. The last thing he'd ever want to do is have to disclose intimate details of what he and Hutch did together.

"Not everything, but it is necessary to know what you two were doing in the hours before she died." 

"I swear I had nothing to do with that!" he cried out, his thick fingers clutching the tumbler so hard Starsky was afraid it would break. "How could I kill her? My mistress?' He turned towards Starsky, his face bleak and trembling, "You understand, don't you? You're like me, I know. I wanted to spend every moment with her…I would never raise one finger to hurt her."

"We need proof, though," Starsky said shakily, "We have your fingerprints at the scene." They hadn't actually identified all the dozens of latent prints found in the playroom, but Buchanon's were sure to be amongst them. Starsky shivered inwardly, his belly a vat of acid. He didn't want to be like Buchanon, pathetic and terrified at the same time. Just because he let Hutch dominate him, did that put him in the same category with the quaking Buchanon? Starsky wanted to bolt from the room, but he didn't let any of the emotions roiling under the surface show on his face. "Tell us what you did after you went to Carlysle's home."

"She…tells me what to do," he faltered, finishing the drink and wiping his face with a cocktail napkin. "Could I get another drink?"

"Not until you've answered our questions," Hutch said sternly. Buchanon was a true submissive, just Hutch's demeanor and authoritarian manner was enough to bring him in line.

"I get undressed," he said softly. "At the door. Not allowed inside with my clothes on." 

Starsky shivered, swallowing the saliva that pooled in his throat. He could almost tell what the man was going to say next and feared that he'd be unable to listen to the whole litany of Carlysle's domination over Buchanon.

"Go on," Hutch encouraged.

"She told me to wait on my knees in the playroom. At the back of the house, while she changed."

"What was she wearing before?"

"But you saw her?" He flinched at Hutch's glare. "A low cut, very tight, black velvet dress and high heels. She changed into a leather pants suit--like Cat Woman would wear. She nearly always wore that when…I was there."

"Did she have a mask or anything covering her face?" Starsky asked.

"No." He looked confused, then continued his narrative. "She ties me up and…." he almost whimpered, "Do I have to tell you the rest?"

"No," Hutch conceded, "Did she mark you in any way?"

"I don't like the whips. The last domme I went to whipped me; I was afraid my wife would see the marks, so I left her."

"Did you mark Carlysle?" Starsky asked in Hutch's wake.

"I couldn't." Buchanon raised his glass as if hoping there was more in it, then put it down again. "I…she only ties me up. That's all. I never touch her."

"In her datebook, she has written 'P.B.' at 7pm' is that you?" 

"She called me…" He blushed, a pink flush giving credence to the nickname. "Pink Bunny," he whispered. "I had to answer to it, she said slaves don't have proper names." 

"Was that it? How long were you together?" Hutch demanded quickly, glad to have the nickname confirmed. If this case had to go to court, they needed concrete proof, not just their own guesses about the facts. Of course, he'd hate to have to pull some of the other notable figures on Carlysle's list into the daylight. She'd had some powerful clients.

"I left just after eleven. She was alive. She was…so beautiful. So alive." Tears wetted his cheeks, and he used the cocktail napkin to blot them up. "She was the best domme I ever went to."

"You've been to others?" Starsky seized this remark.

"Yes, two. One just before Carlysle and one years ago."

"What were their names?" Hutch leaned forward, causing Buchanan to shrink back.

"Um--Mistress Sabrina and Caress."

"When did you start coming to Carlysle?" Starsky interjected not giving any indication that he recognized one of the names.

"Early in January. It was the best decision I'd ever made. I can't believe she's…gone. What will I do now?"

"Where were you between midnight and three a.m.?" Hutch persisted.

"Is that when she…I was at home, in bed with my wife."

"Can she verify this?"

"Oh, God, you can't ask her about this. She's a fine Christian woman, in the ladies aid guild. This would ruin her, she'd divorce me." He was pleading, the despair plain on his face. "She doesn't know what I do."

"Can she verify that you were home with her?" Hutch said tonelessly, "We would only tell her it was part on an ongoing investigation into the death of someone you worked with, but we need to know." 

"Am I a suspect?" he asked again, "Do I need my lawyer?"

"Do you want one?" Hutch asked shrewdly. "Do you want to be cuffed and taken down to headquarters?"

As soon as the words were out of Hutch's mouth, Starsky knew he shouldn't have said them. The slight flush that colored Buchanan's heavy cheeks was arousal. He definitely wanted to be cuffed by the handsome blond detective. 

"Answer Detective Hutchinson's questions," Starsky snapped, a sudden surge of possessiveness coloring his words. He had no doubt that Buchanon would pick up on it.

"If you have to tell my wife my marriage is ruined," he said so quietly Starsky   
had to strain to hear him, "But I'm telling the truth, I left at eleven. I didn't see anyone else there and my mistress was alive." 

"Can you describe how she was murdered?" Hutch took up the interrogation once again.

"The news said a sword…"

"What did it look like?"

"Like?" He frowned, the tears still visible on his face. "I don't know."

"How was she situated when she died? Where was the sword?" Starsky machine-gunned the questions to keep him off balance.

"I don't know. I don't have a sword. I don't own a gun. I swear she was alive."

"We may have to talk to you again but for now you're free to go." Hutch said abruptly. "We will strive to keep your wife out of it, but don't leave town until the investigation is concluded."

"I understand," Buchanon whispered, watching Hutch with all the signs of a man caught up in a rapture. 

"We'll be in touch, we have your home number but I need your office as well," Hutch said neutrally.

"California First Bank," the man supplied, confirming Starsky's assumption that he was a banker. It was the clothes, total banker attire. Even today, on his day off he was more formally dressed that Starsky ever managed even when he had to testify in court. A pale blue Izod shirt coordinated perfectly with darker blue slacks and a Member's only jacket. The picture of a rich man relaxing at his club. Although Everett Buchanon didn't exactly look relaxed. He still wore the stunned expression he'd had when they'd approached him at the apartment building. More and more however, he seemed to be gravitating towards Hutch as if held sway by his presence which irritated Starsky no end. He wondered idly if the club would revoke the man's membership if they found out about Carlysle. Or maybe the place was full of dominants and submissives, ready to break out the whips and collars on a Friday night. There was already enough leather in this one room to quality as a hang out for the more serious leather clad bondage types.

"Starsky?" Hutch's slightly annoyed tone showed he'd spoken the name more than once while Starsky was day dreaming. "Let's get out of here."

The doorman muttered what sounded suspiciously like good riddance when they left. Starsky had the overwhelming urge to track mud on the flawlessly clean floors or toilet paper the front drive. Something very juvenile to dishevel the man's condescending manner, but he accompanied Hutch out to the car only turning back to briefly stick out his tongue at the astonished doorkeeper.

"He didn't do it." Hutch banged his fist on the roof of the car.

"No 'Starsky you were right'?" 

"You were right," Hutch sighed reaching out to ruffle his hair. Starsky leaned into the long fingers for a second before sliding into the car. "That leaves the other alternative."

"Caress and Domi-trex unless there's someone out there we just haven't heard about yet."

"He said he left Caress to go to Carlysle. I cannot believe one woman would be so petty as to kill another over something as trivial as that."

"You consider it trivial…" Starsky mused, "she may not have."

"C'mon, Starsky. It's her business, not a love triangle."

"I dunno, I was kinda getting some weird vibes off ol'Everett in there, and it was makin' me feel real territorial."

"Really?" Hutch asked with a bemused expression. He quietly lay one hand on Starsky's blue jeaned knee, staking his territory without saying a word.

"So now what?" Starsky asked to keep his mind off the weird thoughts he kept running into in the back of his brain. He hated being this intertwined in the case. It sent his objectivity out the window and left him over identifying with the victim. And some of the suspects. 

"The two women."

"Caress or Domi-trex…a'course, Buchanon threw in a new one there," he lowered his voice dramatically, "Mistress Sabrina. Bet she's a witch, huh?'"

"You must be a riot at parties," Hutch deadpanned.

"Eeeny, meeny, miney moe." Starsky ticked off on his fingers. "Catch a dominatrix by the toe, if she hollers, let her go…"

"Somehow that rhyme takes on a whole different meaning." Hutch gave a snort of laughter, putting on sunglasses before starting up the car. "I wouldn't let her go unless she gave her safeword."

"Sadist."

"Caress is closer and since Buchanan mentioned her, I think she's the first stop."

"You're driving." Starsky settled back, feeling unaccountably tired despite having gotten a good night's sleep. They had managed to obtain copies of the business licenses for the women in question, and had both been startled to find that Caress' legal name was Jeanne Tatsumi. A Japanese last name to go with the Katana sword?

Caress was utterly beautiful in a china doll, exotic way. Barely five feet tall, she had the face of a Geisha minus the white mime paint. At first glance, Starsky couldn't believe someone that tiny and fragile looking could possibly dominate a full-grown man. Then she flashed those black almond shaped eyes at him and the full force of her power slammed into him. She might be small, but like a poisonous spider she radiated a tough, undefeatable strength. This was no delicate Japanese flower but a pint-sized warrior ready for battle. It took no stretch of the imagination to think of her wielding a whip over the portly Buchanon's bare back.

Holding up their badges in perfect unison, Starsky and Hutchinson introduced themselves according to regulations. Just by looking at Caress, there was no doubting she was a stickler for regulations. Even so, she appeared less than impressed.

"What possible reason could you have for disturbing my peace?" she demanded, holding the front door of her green house open only part way.

"Ma'am," Starsky began politely, but standing close enough to invade her personal space, "You may have heard about the death of Elizabeth Carlysle this morning?" Despite his bravado, he was more than glad to have Hutch's solid presence backing him up. The tiny woman was more terrifying than some gun-toting career criminals he'd met.

Caress' unwavering gaze pinned him in his place like a frog being pithed in a high school science class. She simmered anger, then without warning her resolve wavered for just a moment. For a split second, her full bottom lip trembled, and tears sparkled in her jet eyes, but just as quickly her face resumed its tough facade as if nothing had happened. She blinked, then held the door open wider. "I didn’t want to believe it. Come into my home. What does this have to do with me?" Her manner of speaking was extremely formal, but there was no trace of any Japanese accent. She was probably all American, as evidenced by the plain T-shirt and jeans she wore. 

Her house was a perfect mix of East meets West. A couch upholstered with a peach raw silk printed with a faint pattern of fans covered one side of the room and the rest of the furnishings seemed to echo the colors taken from the couch and an ornate peach and pale blue Chinese rug on the floor. Pictures of Geishas, Samurai and lovely ladies in Kimonos decorated the eggshell colored walls and a huge curved sword was mounted in a place of honor over the fireplace.

Starsky glanced over at his partner, noting the handsome weapon festooned with red silk tassels. It wasn't the same as the one found in Carlysle's sternum, but it was certainly very similar.

"We've been in contact with the last client Carlysle…entertained on Friday night, before she was murdered," Hutch explained, "And he was also a client of yours."

"Was there any animosity between you and Carlysle?" Starsky tossed in quickly, vastly uncomfortable standing there in the Oriental palace. "Any competition?"

"Between Carlysle and I? Hardly." She laughed so haughtily even Hutch seemed to shrink back. "I would never kill another human, if that's what you're implying. I abhor killing. Pain and torture are a different matter entirely."

"Yes, ma'am." Starsky swallowed, determined not to let this tiny little thing intimidate him, but unlike his initial reaction to Carlysle, he had no fantasies about bowing down before Caress. She was too damned frightening, but with a strangely human side that peeked out every once in a while. "Did you know Carlysle?"

"I knew her." She looked up at him, her black eyes like twin bottomless wells that he could so easily drown in. She placed a miniature hand on the flat expanse of his T-shirt covered abdomen and slid her palm up his body, and gave a small shove. "Sit down, Sergeant." 

Starsky couldn't help but do so, her push propelling him back onto the couch. Hutch followed suit without any help from the domme. Was it really that obvious that Starsky submitted to his partner? 

"I trained Carlysle." Caress touched Hutch's blond hair with a butterfly caress. "You could be her brother. She was one of my best friends, and you will never begin to understand the depth of my grief at her loss. But I grieve in private. It is up to you to catch her killer." One hand pressed against her lips as if she was imposing her own formidable will on her own emotions. 

Starsky noticed she wore a ring on nearly every finger, each with a different semi-precious jewel. Her hand flashed with faceted color, the over-all effect dazzling to the eye, especially since she was dressed in such an ordinary fashion. 

"You were her teacher?" Hutch asked softly, trying not to break the mood. Starsky could see his own surprise reflected in his best friend's eyes--Carlysle could have broken Caress in two with one hand tied behind her back.

"Carlysle was my friend." She finally got her emotions under strict control, sitting down daintily in a large overstuffed chair that only emphasized her tinyness. "For many years she'd been active in the scene, and as I began to train her as a domme, she attracted more and more subs. I wasn't in competition with her--far from it, I was happy and supportive that she'd found her place."

"Then the fact that Everett Buchanon left you for her didn't anger you?" Hutch questioned.

"On the contrary--I realized Everett wasn't happy with my level of domination. A really good domme knows her sub's heart." She looked straight at Starsky, "My slaves receive strict, heavy discipline and most learn to beg for more."

Starsky met her obsidian gaze, not daring to disagree with her assessment of her own services. She was without a doubt the scariest and most seductive woman he'd ever met. Carlysle had been a pussycat next to this exotic beauty.

"Carlysle had her own strengths but whipping wasn't one of them," Caress continued, "There's an art to swinging the arm so the tip of the lash strikes the skin just so, leaving a perfect welt in just the spot you desire."

Shifting in his seat, Starsky could feel the heat rise up over his still bruised butt. Hutch had been using a strap, which left no real welts and for that Starsky was truly grateful.

"So there was no competition between you--just two dommes working side by side." Hutch raised his blond eyebrows. "So, where were you between midnight and three a.m."

Caress gave no indication this question angered her, her face was a perfect mask, "In my bed. I can even give you a witness to that."

"Yeah?" Starsky spoke up. "Who?"

"Someone you will believe without question," she said primly, "But you must first promise me one thing."

"Lady, we don't have to do…" Hutch stood menacingly.

"I knew you were the more dominant of the two." She gave him a fey smile when his blue eyes blazed cold fire, "Sit down, Sergeant. My slave works in a very public office and cannot…" she stressed the word with tight consonants, "be subjected to ridicule, scorn or condemnation. You will not use her name in any report."

Even Hutch was silent, but finally Starsky jumped into the breech, "Who is this slave you were with? We'll make our own decisions about her character."

"You know her and work with her," Caress said simply. "I know your minds are now revolving like hamsters on a wheel trying to figure out to whom I'm referring, but first I must stall a moment longer." 

"Listen, Caress, we haven't got all day," Hutch spat out between clenched teeth, "You say you didn't kill Carlysle, you claim she was your friend, which we have only your word on, and yet there, right in front of us, hangs a twin to the sword she was killed with."

"If the scabbard was empty you might have a point," Caress pointed out calmly, "But, the sword is in place. That is a real Samurai sword and if the blade cleared the scabbard, I would have had to let the weapon taste blood, but I have not, and will never do so." She laughed strangely, "it's not my kink."

"So who is your witness?" Hutch snapped, obviously annoyed to have been so blatantly played for a fool.

"Have you heard of a full time Master/slave relationship?" she asked obliquely.

"No." Starsky's heart gave a lurch. There was so much to this BDSM universe he had to learn. Beside him, Hutch nodded his head. "What's this got to do with the case?" Starsky continued.

"My slave is my slave whether we are in the house together or not. She is always under my control and protection--always. I will not tolerate hearing anything negative about her once you discover her secret."

"I'm aware of how that kind of relationship can work, but I've never heard it stated like that before," Hutch said, "You obviously love this woman, but if she's your slave, wouldn't she lie for you?"

"Not without suffering the consequences of her actions," Caress stood, her perfect black hair swinging out like a cape behind her, "I will go fetch her from her duties. We talked about this the moment we heard about Carlysle. My slave has agreed to speak privately but not on public record. You will understand why when you meet her." 

"We're waiting." Hutch's anger was visible in every line of his body, the corded blood vessels in his neck pulsing with tension. He obviously didn't like the way Caress so easily manipulated every sentence. Once she had walked out of the room, he exploded off the couch, pacing like a caged animal. 

Starsky stifled a smile at the absurdity of it--usually he was the one who railed against whatever obstacle was in their path, not his calm, methodical partner. "She getting to you?" Starsky asked lightly. "What is this full time business anyway?"

"I'll tell you more later, but basically what she said, the master and slave are always in the roles--they never completely drop out, although realistically, in day to day living, it's a lot like a marriage. There has to be a lot of love and trust to keep the relationship going."

"Boy, that sounds…" Starsky started to say hot but changed his mind, "Hard." After the word came out of his mouth he realized he did mean both contradictory terms. 

"Gentlemen." Caress had returned with a pretty brunette with a wide silver collar around her neck. She was dressed in tiny jogging shorts and a dark blue sports bra. 

Starsky got the impression that the clothing was for their benefit, that normally she spent a large part of her time inside the house nude. And he did recognize her; she was an assistant District Attorney by the name of Lisa Hartman. He'd once dated her about a million years ago when he was new to the detective squad and she was defending the indigent and homeless.

"L-lisa." Starsky stuttered, glancing over at Hutch. The big blond shared his stunned expression, both trying not to stare when Lisa sank to her knees beside Caress. Starsky was trying to wrap his brain around the thought of kittenish Lisa and the tiger tough Caress. He shivered remembering that Caress said her slaves accepted harsh, strict discipline and actually begged for more.

"She may only speak to answer questions, but after the interrogation is finished, I will grant you a few moments to talk together," Caress said with a hint of humor.

"Uh, yes…" Hutch cleared his throat. "Lisa, Caress--your mistress says you were with her on Saturday morning between Midnight and three a.m., in bed. Is this correct?"

"Yes." Lisa straightened her spine, her chocolate brown eyes shifting momentarily to her mistress before going on, "Mistress had a client in the early evening. He left at ten thirty, then we had a session in the Chamber…" her inflection capitalized the name of the room, "Before going to bed at twelve thirty, I believe. I didn't have a chance to look at a clock until after we were in bed for a while, and then I noticed the numbers glowing in the dark, twelve thirty." 

Starsky gulped, knowing the feeling. Even in vanilla lovemaking he was sometimes amazed to discover long stretches of time had passed, but in the two BDSM sessions he'd had so far, it was if he'd been on a different planet in a whole different dimension. "Could Caress have left without your knowing it?" Starsky asked, pleased that he could still manage to be a part of the investigation instead of the innocent rube he felt like. An assistant D.A. into bondage! A girl he'd dated turning out to be submissive, just after he'd discovered the same thing in his own life. No wonder they hadn't worked as a couple!

"No, because I was…" Lisa's voice, not very loud in the first place, was barely above a whisper, nothing like the confident, aggressive volume she used in the courtroom. "Was in punishment. Mistress had cuffed me to her own person."

"What?" Starsky squeaked.

"You were cuffed together?" Hutch clarified.

"Yes," Caress affirmed, "My slave had been willful during the day, and I had addressed some issues that evening. She was punished, marked and then cuffed to me for the night. It was quite a pleasant evening." She stroked the kneeling Lisa's hair, winding one strand around her finger. Lisa was smiling, and gave a tiny nod. "Show them the marks, child." Caress commanded.

Starsky's cock jumped forward, straining the limits of his Levis, but to be truthful he wasn't sure why at first. He wasn't cold-blooded enough to want to see a former lover's welts, didn't get off on the image of Caress beating Lisa with a whip, but he was completely aroused in spite of himself. Maybe a tiny, infinitesimal part of him wanted Hutch to play out the scene just described? 

Lisa stood gracefully, turning around and pushing the waistband of her shorts down. Her buttocks were marked with five parallel welts that looked incredibly painful even twenty-four hours after they'd been placed. Starsky knew he had very little to complain about on his own butt. She also had a tattoo of a whip coiled around two handcuffs in the small of her back just above the marks.

"Thank you," Hutch said distantly. "You've made your point--those are obviously fresh. And I doubt that Miss Hartman's statement will come up in any written reports. So saying, do you know of anyone in the BDSM world or anyone at all who would have reason to kill Carlysle in such a brutal way?"

"One calculated to direct your inquiries at me?" Caress asked with a cocked eyebrow. At Starsky's stunned exclamation, she laughed."I know the news didn't specify the type of sword used, but Sergeant Hutchinson's interest in my Katana confirmed my suspicions. Someone used a Japanese implement of death to implicate me because it is well known that I collect Asian art and use…certain Japanese techniques in my torture play, but a Samurai sword is not a toy, and I did not use it to kill my friend Carlysle."

"Well, can you think of anyone at all?" Starsky pressed.

"Carlysle was well liked on the scene, but there are a few people who take their positions too seriously…I don't name names."

"Does the name Domi-trex mean anything to you?" Hutch asked.

"Domi-trex is another domme--obviously from her name," Caress smirked, "but I don't associate with her. We run in different circles, you might say--she's into pony slaves and I am not. Beyond that I don't know if she and Carlysle knew one another--I doubt it, but I'm not one hundred percent sure."

"May I speak, Mistress?" Lisa had adjusted her clothes and knelt once again at Caress's red Keds.

"You have information for these gentlemen?"

"I belong to a support group for slaves…it's a satellite of MAST."

"MAST?" Hutch repeated.

"Masters and Slaves Together," Caress clarified.

"I know a former slave of Domi-trex." Lisa's hands were clenched together, her lawyer self and slave self in obvious conflict. "I wouldn't normally say this about another Mistress, but Domi-trex is known for being cruel, vindictive and aggressive. If she didn't like someone, you knew it."

"I knew she wasn't well liked but I haven't heard specifics," Caress said in shock. "You never said."

" At first I took it to be gossip." Lisa was speaking only to her Mistress now; her face turned adoringly up at Caress. "But the more I heard, the more I believed. Everyone said the same basic things, until I began to compile a sort of unwritten file on her. It's all up here." She pointed to her head, "But from everything other players and especially other slaves say, she's just short of evil to subordinates."

"You think her capable of murder?" Starsky asked.

"She reportedly had said things about other dommes." Lisa was now the lawyer, her intelligence and knowledge of the criminal world apparent, "She could have easily gone out to get a sword that would implicate my Mistress, but why she would want to murder a well-liked and popular dominatrix is unfathomable." 

"Because Carlysle had been on the scene for such a short while and was so immediately popular," Hutch surmised.

"That as a motive for murder?" Caress frowned disapprovingly. "A domme must have complete control of her or his own emotions and actions in order to deal with the slaves under her safely and sanely. There's no sanity in murder."

"None at all," Lisa whispered.

"But, you think Domi-trex is a viable suspect?" Hutch asked the assistant D.A.

"Yes."

"I think I need to leave you three alone to talk. You have ten minutes," Caress said archly, her hand in Lisa's hair again, only her grip wasn't so playful this time. "But slave?"

"Yes, Mistress?"

"We need to talk further about this. I want to hear every word said about others so I can inform them if need be and there will be no more keeping private files in your head, do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress," Lisa's lips were parted in awe-struck adoration. "Will I be punished?"

"I expect so." Caress nodded to the two detectives. "If you two want to return under less business-like conditions, I would be amenable to some joint play." She stalked from the room, her head held high.

"Does everyone know?" Starsky muttered but nobody was paying much attention to him. 

Lisa was able to provide them with lots of information on the mysterious Domi-trex whose real name turned out to be Dominique Texera. She had been in the scene for many years, but recently her behavior had changed for the worse. Slaves and subs had abandoned her because of her disregard of safe and consensual play. However, any motive as to why she might have killed Carlysle was only speculation and Lisa's file, for all it contained some juicy gossip, was mostly hearsay.

 

"Thank you, Lisa." Hutch flipped his notebook closed. "We would never out you."

"Thank you. I was scared shitless when my Mistress told me your names." She held out a hand to Starsky, "But in a funny way I was also glad it was you. I know I can trust you two more than some others."

"Are you really happy like this?" Starsky asked.

"More than I can describe in words." Lisa's pretty heart shaped face shone with love. "I was floundering a few years ago…and Dave, you had nothing to do with that!" She giggled with a tinkling, merry sound. "When a former boyfriend introduced me to the scene, I was hooked from the first time a cuff was wrapped around my wrist."

Starsky could easily relate to that but he wasn't sure he wanted to tell her. "So you played around awhile and found Caress?" 

"Yes, she proposed to me soon after we met." Lisa made it sound like they were married and not in what most of America would consider a severely perverted partnership. "Which was so scary…being a slave twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week…but I'm not whipped everyday. Last Friday was special. I don't wear a collar at work--but I always have her marks, and certain other private things on my body, even in court." She dimpled, "even the last time, when I was questioning Hutch about his less than legal entry into that suspect's domicile."

"I knew you had a hint of dominatrix in you that day," Hutch teased. "This works for you? Even though you both have lives and work? You can maintain the dynamics?"

"I won't lie, it's a struggle, if I come home from a long week with horrible cases, and she wants an instant slave girl worshipping at her feet, I'm not always up to it." Lisa shrugged, "But you have give and take in any relationship--even one like mine. It makes me happy."

"That's terrific." Starsky gave her a quick peck on the cheek, ready to be out of there and the topics that were too close his own reality for his taste.

"What about you?" Lisa asked, hands behind her back like a good slave, but her lawyer face still in place. "Why are you so interested? Why would my Mistress think you'd come over to play?" Before either of them could speak she touched the silver chain half-hidden under Starsky's red turtleneck t-shirt. "Is this why?"

"Lisa," Starsky started, not knowing what to say. They knew her secret, what would it hurt if she knew theirs? Mutual blackmail material? So many people were beginning to worm their way into his private life.

"Starsky?" Hutch asked silently if he should say anything.

"We're takin' steps in the general direction you're headed," was all Starsky would say before he clasped her hand in mutual solidarity before turning to leave.

"Good bye," Hutch said for both of them.

 

++++++++++++++

 

"I don't like this." Starsky was in high gear, his restless energy overflowing like a plugged drain. 

Hutch had to stifle a laugh at that mental image. If he ever got Starsky into a compromising position again, plugs were going to feature prominently in the play.

"What? That one of your former girlfriends is living with a woman? That you weren't quite man enough for her?" Hutch laughed aloud.

"Just quit it," Starsky snarled irritably, "You know what I mean. Buchanon saw right through me--us. So did Caress. What if IA figures this out? We're whipped, out on our asses, stripped of badges and guns--and yes, the puns were intentional."

"Simmonetti and his ilk are not in the scene. Buchanan, Caress and Lisa are. They see things others might not."

"I don't want to wear this chain anymore." Starsky yanked futilely on it, but it was locked around his neck. "Too many people see this. It's like wavin' a red flag in front of their faces." 

Hutch's heart clenched in his chest. He swore he could feel a fist--Starsky's fist--squeezing his heart until it bled. "You don't have to wear the chain if you don't want to, Starsk."

"Oh, Hutch." There was the same stricken expression in those blueberry dark eyes as the night before when they'd argued. Starsky closed his fingers around the cold, unforgiving steel links, looking over at Hutch helplessly. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

"I asked you when I gave it to you if you were willing to wear it in public," Hutch said quietly, trying so hard to be reasonable when his heart was gushing blood into his chest. "You have every right to decide when and where you want to wear it. We're not full time, not even close to it."

"Can we talk about this later?" Starsky whispered. "Really talk when the investigation is over?"

"That would be good." Hutch pulled a key out of his pocket and held it out, but Starsky shook his head, hand still grasping the chain and got into the car. When Hutch had been driving for nearly ten minutes, he risked a glance at his partner. Starsky was huddled on his side of the car, arms crossed over his chest. He was practically wearing a no trespassing sign but Hutch was willing to breech his defenses anyway. "One question?"

"Yeah?" Starsky sounded weary.

"What you said to Lisa. Was it true?"

"I don't know. I think so--can this just get shelved until later?" 

"Sure. I agree we need to talk. Someplace neutral."

"Some cookie cutter diner like a million others where we're not regulars."

"It's a date," Hutch agreed and earned the first smile from Starsky since they'd gotten in the car.

"Like high school, when it was so simple. Guys liked girls with big racks, girls liked the football captains, and you were so lame if you didn't get a date to the winter formal." 

"Did you?" Hutch asked, consulting a map while stopped at a red light to find the cross street for Domi-trex's house.

"What?" Starsky wasn't even following his own ramblings.

"Get a date for the winter formal? Rented tux, bow tie, stiff collar…?"

"Had a date." Starsky nodded, his fingers toying with the heavy silver links around his neck, "She stood me up."

"Aw, Starsk," Hutch sighed in dismay, the mood having shifted so abruptly into melancholia. He turned the corner indicated on the map and headed south. "Sorry."

"You?" 

"Ingela Swenson."

"Lemme guess, tall, blond and farm grown." Starsky's smile was half-mast, but it was a good attempt.

"How'd you know?"

"Hutch, until me, most of your dates were tall, blond and gorgeous. Makes me wonder what you see in a dark, Jewish kid from New York with bowed legs."

"You're not short."

"Did I say I was?"

"It was certainly implied." Hutch reached over and grasped the closer of the two jeans clad thighs sitting next to him. "It was definitely the bowed legs."

This time Starsky's grin was coy, the humor creeping back into his eyes. Encouraged, Hutch continued to list his lover's attributes, "Then there's one spectacular ass, and a smile that could brighten the world."

"Yeah?"

"Most definitely yeah." Hutch wished he could lean over the gear shift and kiss that pointed nose, lavish those ears with one hundred more endearments but they had arrived outside a small house going to seed on a suburban street. Domi-trex's domicile.

When all was said and done, the arrest of Dominique Texera was anti-climactic. From all appearances, although the murder of Elizabeth Carlysle had been planned fairly skillfully, Domi-trex's mental condition had deteriorated after her one desperate act.

When she opened the door it was obvious that the woman was severely mentally disturbed and Starsky almost felt sorry for her. Her appearance was such a shock both detectives widened their eyes in surprise. No one had prepared them for that--Domi could have easily been Carlysle's sister. Blond and tall, she didn't have the sensual elegance and seductive power the murdered woman had had, but the resemblance was uncanny. But now her blond tresses were bedraggled and uncombed, her full lips cracked and blue eyes bleary. Even if she was cleaned up and dressed in a sexy outfit, she had a coarse, cheap look that put her in a whole different class than Carlysle.

"D-domi-trex," Hutch began with a stutter, still amazed by her resemblance, "We're here…"

Finally realizing that the two men were cops and not some clients coming to be disciplined, Domi made a frantic attempt to slam the door in their faces. 

Starsky easily strong-armed the door, shoving his foot in the space. She had grabbed a whip hidden just inside, holding it aloft with expert form. The partners double-teamed her, coming at her from both sides, both escaping the kiss of the lash as she slashed her hand down. Hutch grabbed her wrist, wrenching the whip from her grasp and pulling her hand behind her back. The irony was not lost on him as he handcuffed the dominatrix. Neither detective had even drawn his gun, but both knew without a doubt that the woman had wielded her last whip. She was on her way to prison.

"You want to go to the playroom?" Domi asked with a pitiful attempt at seduction, "We could have some fun with these cuffs…"

"Miss Texera, you're under arrest." Starsky intoned formally, reciting the Miranda from memory. He had an unsettled feeling; it had ended too easily. Just last night he had seen the spot where Carlysle had died with a sword piercing her breastbone, Now it was barely 24 hours later and they were arresting the murderer.

He should have been jubilant at the fast turn around; instead it only made him sad. The world of dominants and submissives, of leather fetish wear and scary disciplinary implements seemed tainted by this murder. Oh, he knew most people would have thought him cracked that he wanted such a dark, perverted world to be free of nastiness, but when he'd opened the red door to the little house Hutch had rented for their first session, he'd been dazzled and giddy with excitement like a little kid on Christmas morning. Now, the blinders were off his eyes, and he could see that this was just like any other segment of society. There was evil everywhere.

"She took everything!!" Domi screamed, her face distorted like a Halloween fright mask. "She stole my life…took my slaves…. she was a witch…did voodoo in the night and took it all away!" The last word wailed into the sky and she shrieked inconsolably so that it took both detectives to get her into the car and call for back up to search her house for the murder weapon.

"She's strong." Hutch leaned against the car door, feeling the vehicle pitch and shake with Domi-trex's violent tantrum inside.

"Could easily have shoved a big sword like that Katana into the victim," Starsky agreed, his insides trembling with exhaustion, hating to term Carlysle in the detached vernacular of victim. He had to work hard to appear in control and professional when all he wanted was for Hutch to spirit him away to some idyllic hideaway and fuck his brains out. He no longer wanted to think. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Hey, Starsk." Hutch let his hand rest on his partner's thigh under the cover of their shared desk for just a second, "You ready to go?" 

Domi-trex had been booked and photographed, fingerprinted and questioned. Her prints matched ones found at the site and she was now in the process of being evaluated by a psychiatrist. She was mentally unbalanced, her lawyer already proclaiming that it was temporary insanity, but the D.A. was pressing for the murder one. Starsky's brief phone call to the assistant D.A. at her home probably had nothing to do with the swift carriage of justice.

"Yeah, I wanted to go about three hours ago." Starsky sighed, already missing the tiny warmth that had been on his leg for so short a time. He stood, heading out of the squadroom. "Listen, I was thinking…?" Despite his early desires for sex and lots of it, he'd now veered in the other direction and wasn't sure how to say what was on his mind without sounding like he was brushing Hutch off, "Maybe we need a breather? I'd like to go home, sleep in my own bed."

"Alone?" Hutch asked slowly.

"Yeah," Starsky ducked his head just enough so Hutch couldn't look straight into his eyes. "Just for one night--we can talk tomorrow, huh?"

"Whatever you want, champ." Hutch smiled, but the sadness in his face almost broke Starsky's heart.

"How 'bout Denny's, 'bout two? The one by Merl's. I need to have him look at my brakes," Starsky proposed just a little too heartily. "We can get a back booth an' the lunch crowd'll be gone by then."

"Sound's great." Hutch hooked his letterman jacket over his shoulder, following the dark haired man over to his car. "Starsky."

"Hmm?" Starsky paused in the act of zippering his leather jacket.

"I-I don't want to lose you," Hutch said softly, glad they were outside, away from prying eyes and ears, "Whatever happens, always know I love you."

"Oh, Hutch." Starsky swallowed the lump that swelled his throat, "It's not like that. I just need to think. We got to work stuff out, but…you can use those handcuffs'a yours on me any time." 

"You can count on that." Hutch's smile lit the dark street.

 

++++++++++++

 

Starsky's prediction that the lunch crowd would be gone by two p.m. had been dead on target Hutch noted wryly. Denny's was nearly deserted, all but one of the waitresses tucked into a back booth nursing their feet and sipping afternoon cups of coffee while a bus boy lazily wiped the counter.

Standing next to the podium with its imposing sign that stated 'wait to be seated', Hutch stared at the colorful display of pies all decorated with heaping mounds of pseudo whipped cream. They looked fake, like those Japanese restaurants that put out plastic food to tempt the customers. For him, it had the opposite effect. He vowed not to taste one of the cholesterol-laden confections for any reason.

Looking out the plate window of the restaurant, he could just see the driveway of Merl's mechanic shop. 

The splashy red and white Torino had pulled up moments, before and he watched Starsky gesture at the cars' back end with one hand, obviously talking a mile a minute to the nodding Merl. Some kind of agreement must have been reached because Starsky loped across the busy thoroughfare, narrowly avoiding a fast moving Pontiac and gaining the curb on the Denny's side of the street by the skin of his teeth.

Hutch grit his own teeth at Starsky's blatant disregard for traffic laws and not the least for his cavalier lack of concern for his personal safety. That, if nothing else, was why Hutch wanted to dominate him, to take control of that gorgeous, hyperactive soul. Starsky needed someone to keep him in line before he leaped into some situation that he couldn't charm his way out of. He seemed to live in a perpetually chaotic world where bad things didn't just happen, they happened to Starsky. 

Hutch's existence in that same universe didn't quite seem so dangerous, strangely enough. He yearned to have Starsky safe and under his dominion, where what he said held sway, but was realistic enough to know that Starsky would never give up total autonomy. And to be truthful, Hutch didn't want him to when they were in the field--just in the bedroom and in private. Even there, he was willing to allow a little give and take, as long as he could be with the person he treasured more than diamonds. 

Starsky decorated Hutch's life with color. He had pushed Hutch into more wild situations and crazy stunts than Hutch might have ever gotten to on his own. That Starsky had survived his difficult childhood, Viet Nam and the life of a cop was testimony to his adaptive nature, spontaneity and eagerness for new adventures. 

Which was exactly why Hutch wanted to continue with the BDSM. Vanessa had tarnished his memories of the sex games and fantasy role playing with her condescending, cruel disposition but Starsky had brought back the play in sex play and the 'bon' in bondage. His enthusiasm spurred Hutch on to create new and more elaborate sessions. Hutch saw the whole BDSM world through his partner's bright eyes which had lured him back into its seductive folds. The question was, did Starsky still want to follow him down that path?

He'd said Hutch could still use the handcuffs on him, but had his anger over the beating been just post-bondage let down and the result of a long and difficult night investigating a murder or had it been something else? One of the most important parts of a relationship like this one was the give and take. Talking honestly was vitally important to both the master and slave to ensure that signals weren't crossed and both parties were deriving pleasure from the admittedly kinky scene. Something hadn't worked for Starsky, and Hutch was determined to find out what it was and rectify the situation. 

Clutching the enormous plastic menu the hostess handed him, Hutch waited for his partner to join him before heading for their table.

 

++++++++++++

 

"Want anything to eat?" Hutch asked when Starsky flipped through the menu for the second time, "Or you just stalling?"

"Would you get a load of this stuff?" Starsky leaned his cheek on one hand, indicating the brightly colored photos of food with his left forefinger. "When it comes to the table, it never looks like this."

"It's the come on that sells, Starsk." Hutch smiled indulgently.

"Like flowers for the bees?" Starsky quirked a smile, looking over at the blond god sitting next to him. Sometimes he couldn't believe such a beautiful man loved him with such devotion. It totally mystified him why Hutch didn't have a string of woman--or men--hanging off him at all times. Instead, he'd committed himself to a guy covered with bullet scars. "I'd pollinate you anytime, Hutch."

"Just name the day, Honey."

"Hot fudge sundae," Starsky decided abruptly and beckoned over the waitress. He ordered the delectable dessert, adding, "And bring over two spoons." The waitress gave him a cheeky wink, tucking her pencil back into her ruffled apron pocket.

"I wasn't going to have any," Hutch deferred, holding up a half drunk cup of coffee.

"Hutch, it's hot fudge--you gotta eat some," Starsky adopted a Jewish Grandmother accent, "It's good for you."

"And you're still stalling." Hutch sipped the strong brew, raising his eyebrows.

"Just jump in feet first, huh?"

"That's generally your approach to life from where I'm sitting."

Starsky fiddled with the spoon and fork wrapped neatly in a napkin, unrolling the paper square and carefully smoothing out the corners. It wasn't so much that he didn't want to talk to Hutch about the subject at hand, it was more a case of not knowing where to start.

"Hutch?" Starsky began but was interrupted by the arrival of a monstrous serving of ice cream smothered in gooey hot fudge and whipped cream then sprinkled with nuts and topped with a cherry. This was not the time to start a serious conversation. He handed one spoon to his best friend and both eagerly dug in. The coldness of the ice cream balanced the hot indulgent fudge perfectly, and Hutch had no trouble managing to eat his half of the sinfully rich confection. "I like chocolate." Starsky confessed, licking the last off his spoon.

"I hadn't noticed," Hutch laughed, wetting a napkin in his water glass to wash a chocolatey smudge off Starsky's nose.

"Y'know when we saw Carlysle in L'Etoile?" Starsky absently rubbed the end of his nose where the napkin had tickled him. Hutch nodded. "That was the first time I really knew where I ranked in her world." Starsky tapped the spoon on the sundae glass before dropping it down on the plate. "She made me feel like I was a slave."

"God, Starsk, I'm sorry." 

"No. I'm not lookin' for sympathy." He laughed, glancing around the room, but there were only a couple of teenagers giggling over Cokes at the counter, nobody was paying the least attention to him besides Hutch. The waitresses were still gossiping across the room with their feet up on the pleather-upholstered booth. "I just mean I was put in my place, by an expert. Even though I kinda…lusted after her, she made feel lower'n shit." He longed to reach out and stroke that beautiful blond hair and kiss Hutch's sweet lips, but that was exactly why they were having this conversation in a public place, so emotions and sex wouldn't get in the way. "You never make me feel that way. Even when you say slave. Even when you're whalin' on me with a strap, I feel cared for, not humiliated."

"Starsky, I will never demean you, and if I do, tell me immediately."

"You can be mean when you tease sometimes, and say stuff but I know you don't really mean it," Starsky grinned, trying to soften the harsh words a little. "But when you got me trussed up like some Butterball at Thanksgiving I can tell you're treatin' me like something precious. I'm not gonna break."

"Starsky, after the shooting, my inclination was to treat you like fine china," Hutch admitted. "I knew you wouldn't have appreciated it but I had to fight not to hover protectively. In a strange way the whole bondage thing helped. I already knew how strong you were, but this really lets me see it."

"You did hover," Starsky said, trying to keep a straight face, but he didn't quite manage it which brought a smile to Hutch's face, too. "You've given me such an amazing gift here, Hutch. Sure, I was interested in findin' out what Carlysle had to offer, but I'm not sure I would have ever gone through with it--really done it if you hadn't…. showed me the way. It's like you took me to a different planet." 

"Oh, I know that place." Hutch nodded, naming the movie Starsky had once described, "Planet of the Bondage Babes in Chains."

"It’s a much better planet than that one," Starsky said, "Cause it's where you live."

"Just the two of us."

"Yeah, and therein lies the whole problem."

"Cause there's just the two of us?" Hutch asked perplexed.

"Cause I want there just to be the two of us," Starsky clarified, "The last coupla days just hit me square between the eyes that no matter how much we pretend we're alone--on the bondage planet--the real world is right outside the door and the wolf's comin' in to eat us."

"And the world really intruded this time," Hutch said solemnly.

"Big time." Starsky grimaced, remembering how much pain he'd been in on the drive back from Malibu. Even today, Monday afternoon, he was still slightly sore, especially after sitting for a long period. Like now. "I'm not sure what to do about it. I do want to go back there."

"But there's no going back, is there?"

"I don't think so."

"We can go forward."

"It's all different now," Starsky said slowly, letting his hand rest on Hutch's under the edge of the table. He ran his thumb along the silky skin of Hutch's wrist, caressing the underside just below the palm where the pulse thrummed strongly in counterpoint to his own. "I know what can happen now. The first time was incredibly scary and exciting at the same time. I can't tell you how many times I almost pulled over at a public phone to call it off."

"But you didn't"

"I'm so glad I didn't." Starsky grinned wolfishly, remembering how tense he'd been kneeling naked at Hutch's feet waiting for the collar to be buckled onto his neck. Now he wished that could happen every morning of his life. In the same instant he shied away from that thought of permanent slavery. Caress and Lisa made it work, but they had completely different lives than he and Hutch. There was no way he could be subservient to his partner while they were doing their job. It wouldn't work and yet the idea kept impinging on his consciousness at the strangest times, trying to beguile him. "The second time was exhilarating…until the world intruded."

"Do you want a third time?" Hutch asked after a long pause. Starsky laced his fingers between Hutch's like he was weaving a living basket, intertwining their very skin.

"I want it forever but somethin' needs t'change. I can't get up with my ass all blistered and go stand around talkin' to the lab crew pretendin' my butt doesn't hurt like hell," Starsky sighed, "We gotta have…ground rules."

"Sounds workable."

"No more cases right after punishment is the biggest one of all," Starsky declared firmly.

"Should I write these down?"

 

"I need at least two days after major stuff and a day after less intense stuff."  
"Agreed." Hutch nodded. "I thought Dobey'd be calling us about Romano," he said, referring to their hostage crisis case from Friday afternoon. "I should not have answered the phone."

"As close to an apology as I'm likely t'get," Starsky observed dryly. "No answering the phone."

"Anymore?"

"I can always think of something when you're about to truss me up but not this second."

"Then I need you to agree on total submission. I said it Friday--this doesn't work if you can't give me total autonomy over you. You like to joke around and that's okay--this is supposed to be fun, but I'm the master, right?"

"You're the one with the whips and cuffs." Starsky pretended to look cowed but he still got aroused thinking of Hutch taking command like that. "How often d'you plan on usin' that strap anyways?"

"As often as necessary." Hutch pushed his empty coffee cup across the table, signaling the passing busboy to pour a refill. Starsky flipped his cup over to get some of the heavenly smelling coffee as well, and both waited until the busboy had traversed half the room before continuing their conversation. "You gave me that right when we're together."

"Yeah."

"Which brings up the issue of making it more formal."

"In what way?" 

"There are contracts that can be made up--quasi legal forms that spell out exactly what we've agreed between us." He held up one long finger with a thought. "I'm sure Lisa would know the correct ones."

"They wouldn't stand up in court," Starsky admonished.

"No, but they are a binding contract in the BDSM world--a permanent record of our agreement so that there's no misunderstandings."

"Is that necessary?" Starsky's heart was pounding in his chest. This was all closer than he'd expected to that annoyingly persistent idea that kept buzzing around in his brain. "To make it permanent?"

"No, we trust each other enough that I know stuff can get talked out. I just wondered if you'd like to take it to the next level?"

"I'm just getting my balance on this one." Starsky blew on the coffee before taking a drink, his mind flashing back to Carlysle hanging by her hands with a sword through her leather encased breasts. Domi-trex must have come over; perhaps with a peace offering or a suggestion that they talk things over and then started a macabre parody of bondage play. No matter that her behavior was an aberration, he couldn't quite shake the image of Carlysle suspended. Would he keep flashing back on that horrible sight every time Hutch pulled his wrists together to tie them above his head? He needed another picture to paste over that one, of himself being pleasured by a beautiful blond man. "But I could see…maybe in the future?"

"Yeah?" Hutch beamed.

"What if…"

"Here we go again, you always have to check out the property from every angle."

"Huh." Starsky took the snub good-naturedly. "What if we did decide to do this much more often, like all the time, just for an example…"

"Just an example."

"How'd it work when we were chasin' down criminals an' stuff?"

"We'd have to figure it out as we go, I guess. You'd be your own person when we were on the job…"

"And naked the rest of the time." Starsky rolled his eyes, but the insistent idea was becoming alarmingly more substantial by the minute.

"You heard Lisa, I don't think they have constant bondage and sex every hour of the day and night."

"She'd have t'have more stamina than I have…"

"The details get worked out through trial and error."

"I just don't wanna be on the wrong end of a whip when there's an error."

"Have I used a whip on you yet?"

"Maybe not, but there's always next time."

"Or the time after that." Hutch laughed.

"I got one other thing on my mind…" Starsky rubbed his backside, shifting his weight on the healing bruises. "What if I get shot again or something?"

"God forbid." Hutch shuddered, "Why bring that up?"

"If I had t'go to the ER? The docs would take one look and…maybe they could see some…evidence of what we'd been doin'. Not to mention just going to my regular doc. He still likes me t'drop in once in a while for a 100,000 dollar check up on the patched up lung."

"You mean 100,000 mile check up?"

"Both. C'mon, Hutch, I'm serious. Right now I still got some pretty obvious bruises. It wouldn't take no brain surgeon to figure out what's been going on."

"Okay," Hutch soothed. "Believe it or not, there are doctors sympathetic to the cause. I've already gotten a list."

"From who?"

"Remember Lisa mentioning MAST?"

"Masters and Slaves Together."

"I called 'em up this morning. They're a really good reference and even have support groups and seminars."

"Oh, I don't know if I could go to some encounter group and talk about being in four point restraints. Way too much like bein' in Cabrillo Hospital."

"The thing is, it might help with all this real world intruding on us."

"Hutch, I admit that meeting all these people…. well, Buchanan kinda creeped me out, but meeting Caress and Lisa in particular showed me that there are normal people out there doing this kinda stuff, but I'm not sure I'm ready to go talking about it in public."

"I'm certainly not forcing you on that one. Just think about it. I'd be there, too."

"Hey, that's the only reason any of this works at all." Starsky knocked his knee against Hutch's. "Can we get outta here? My butt's killin' me."

"What'd you have in mind?"

"Well, Merl's got the Torino until tomorrow, so I'm kinda stranded here."

"Oh, you need a ride?" Hutch tossed the correct amount of cash onto the table, rising out of the booth with surprising ease considering he'd been wedged into the back of the curved bank.

"Goin' anywhere I wanna go?"

"Thought I'd pick up some roast chicken and a salad from the grocery and drive back t'Venice Place," Hutch proposed with an elaborate shrug. "Didn't have any real plans."

"I could go for some chicken," Starsky agreed, his mind already planning an after dinner surprise for his host. "Maybe I'd get the wishbone, y'think? I like to get hold of it real tight and give a good pull."

"You might get lucky at that." Hutch stopped in the parking lot behind his battered car patting down his pockets for the keys.

"If I recall, you said just about those same words yesterday just before Buchanan showed up," Starsky reminded with a leer. "So far, zip."

"Then tonight must be your lucky night." Hutch opened the door for him, bowing like a supercilious doorman, "I read your horoscope this morning. It said something about you scoring big with a blond."

"I heard blonds have more fun." Starsky climbed in, tossing a stray soda can behind the seat. "But I need more proof. Gonna have t'conduct a long, real scientific study to see if blonds really have more fun than brunets."

"Sounds like a landmark experiment, requiring hours of intense, close work."

"Lots of field study," Starsky agreed with a twinkle in his eye. "You're my lab rat and I'm gonna put you through a maze like you've never seen."

"As long as I get it in the end." 

"Don't worry, you will." Starsky laughed, laying out his plans as the car headed towards the ocean. He was in charge tonight. He'd never be completely dominant to his long-legged, willful lover, but he knew what to do to make the blond sing like an angel, and he wanted to hear the entire 'Alleluia chorus' in one night.

There would be other nights, lots of other nights where he would once again kneel down before his master and pledge his body into Hutch's care, but tonight was his and he was ready to take charge.

 

+++++++++++++++++++

 

The voice on the phone had been deep, gruff and sensual, a commanding presence that was not to be denied. At once both familiar and not quite a friend. The voice had told him to be at Whip's Tavern by one thirty, to order a coke and sit on the third stool at the bar. He was told what to wear and to bring nothing with him. When Starsky had tried to get more information the connection was abruptly cut. He knew better than to refuse an order. 

Starsky perched on his barstool impatiently, drumming his fingers on the shiny black bar. He'd been waiting for nearly twenty minutes and anxiousness was beginning to overtake his original curiosity. Why had the caller wanted to meet here? It was a dingy bar far from Starsky's usual haunts. Nobody knew him in this area, even though Starsky was quite used to fending for himself in rough environs, the disassociation with the familiar put him at a disadvantage. What if something happened while he was out here, without a weapon or back up? 

The voice had said to come unarmed and while Starsky didn't often do what he was told without reason, this time he obeyed. The meeting seemed that important. Still, he felt acutely naked without his Baretta strapped under his right arm.

But now the designated time had passed and the man behind the voice was late. Starsky wanted to get up, stretch his legs, maybe play a tune on the jukebox, but he had been told to sit and wait. Those were his orders. He didn't want to screw anything up. The electric hum of anticipation vibrated through his core jacking up his adrenaline. He couldn't wait much longer without needing to move, though and took a sip of his drink to moisten his dry throat. It would be in the next few minutes, he could feel it. Something major was about to happen.

"You want anything else?" the bartender asked. He was a barrel chested man with the look of someone who'd been around the world more than once, and had fistfights in every port. He eyed Starsky's barely touched cola. "Want me t'add something stronger to that? Or maybe some food? Peanuts? Chips?"

Ignoring the rumbling in his belly, Starsky shook his head. A splash of rum in the coke, or something stronger even, sounded like the thing to calm his nerves and he was really hungry but there was always the chance of doing something he wasn't supposed to do. It was probably best just to stick with the soda, to be on the safe side. So much depended on today's meeting. "I'll pass, thanks."

"Suit yourself." The man shrugged beefy shoulders, he swiped a rag over the bar, his arm decorated with a skull and crossbones above an anchor. "Date stood you up?"   
"Meeting somebody, probably stuck in traffic," Starsky fibbed only slightly. After all, that could be the reason. He picked up his Coke to make a show of drinking it while the bartender moved down to the far end, responding to a signal from another customer.

Starsky watched absently as three bikers wearing leather jackets with the words 'Satan's henchmen on hogs' embroidered on the back passed by, arguing amiably over what to play on the jukebox. They deposited half a dozen quarters, selecting several tunes. 'Can't get no Satisfaction' by the Rolling Stones suddenly blared out of the neon accented machine, tripling the decibel level in the room. The song suited his mood perfectly and he drummed his fingers on the bar, this time with the beat of the music.

"Don't turn around," the Voice growled in Starsky's ear. He could feel the hard nose of a pistol sticking into his ribs and resisted the urge to shift his weight on the barstool. One buttock was still only halfway on and he felt unsteady, a little tremble running down his torso. 

"Both hands flat on the bar," the Voice commanded, the gun no longer poking Starsky's flank. Instead, a big hand clasped the back of his neck so he couldn't turn his head. "Climb down nice and easy and don't turn around."

Starsky did as he was told, glancing up to see the bartender and the trio of bikers watching him from the relative safety of the jukebox. None of them moved to give him any assistance, no doubt all of them had records themselves and didn't wish to court further trouble with their parole officers.

Rough hands patted Starsky down, starting just under his armpits and moving slower than necessary down his body, feeling every inch as if they had a possessive right to claim him. The hands slid under the edge of his scruffed leather jacket, moving languidly across the thin cotton of his dark blue shirt, then caressed his hips, warm palms searing his skin through the denim. Starsky didn't move an inch; his breath coming in hitches as the inspection became more intimate. Sweat broke out under his arms once the hands had moved on and he stifled a sound in his throat, wishing for a long cool drink of the coke so tantalizingly close on the bar.

Abruptly, the right hand dropped down over Starsky's jutting groin, cupping his erection and then squeezing tightly. Starsky's breath caught in his throat, and he glanced over at the bikers again, but they were studiously ignoring the spectacle, nursing their beers at a table as far away from the bar as possible. Even the bartender hadn't approached Starsky's end of the bar again. Since they weren't paying any attention to this overly thorough frisking, he risked thrusting into the hot grasp, but the hand just clamped hard over his balls again with a muttered negative and then let go. 

With brusque familiarity the hands quickly continued their passage down his body, leaving an invisible mark on every cell. "What 'er ya going to do to me, Officer?" Starsky asked, his breath rate increasing when the hands left off their exploration and jerked his arms behind him, securing him with a pair of cold, steel cuffs.

"I think you know," his captor purred in his ear. "You're coming with me." 

Yanking Starsky away from the bar by his cuffed hands, Hutch marched him towards the door. The other patrons in the establishment stared after them with grim expressions, not knowing what they had just witnessed was no ordinary arrest.

After the dim interior of the bar, the bright sun was almost blinding and Starsky found himself blinking madly, his sight blurry. He ducked his head, trying to restore his outdoor vision. 

"Here, I got you a new pair of shades." Hutch produced a pair of sunglasses, pushing them up his friend's nose and hooking the earpieces behind his ears.

Starsky got a brief glimpse of expensive looking eyewear before Hutch put them on him. They were stylish looking frames, the type with leather sideguards that skiers used to reduce the glare from snow. But once they were on, Starsky noticed the big difference. The lenses had been painted black on the inside. With the leather covering the peripheral vision the wearer was effectively blindfolded. He turned his unseeing eyes to Hutch, putting all his faith and trust in the capable hands of his master. "How do I look?"

"Incredible." Hutch was standing close up against his lover to hide the handcuffs from passersby and his warm breath tickled Starsky's ear. "You took my breath away in there, you know, leaning over the bar with your ass up in the air. I wanted to take you right there, in front of all those bikers…"

"Great minds think alike." Starsky grinned.

Hutch didn't comment further, instead guiding him over to the red and white car parked at the curb and gently bending his head down to prevent him from braining himself on the doorframe. Starsky slid into the back seat awkwardly with Hutch's assistance. 

"I left my car around back, we'll take this one." Hutch announced, having transferred everything he'd brought with him from his beater to the Torino before going into the bar. 

Starsky settled into the seat, trying to find a comfortable position with his hands still cuffed behind him. He recognized the Torino even without sight but it felt distinctly odd to be a prisoner in his own car. Even though the metal cuffs weren't overly tight, they were considerably more unpleasant than the chamois lined leather cuffs Hutch usually buckled on him. The hard metal dug into his wrists, but Hutch had to use the police issue equipment to give veracity to the mock arrest.

He could hear Hutch climb into the driver's seat and the jingle of the keys as he started up the motor. The vibration of the car's engine only added to the throb in Starsky's groin and he pressed his thighs together to get some relief. He wished he'd been able to look just once into the luminous blue eyes of his blond lover, but Hutch had managed to stay behind him, just out of sight, until Starsky had donned the sunglasses. Nonetheless, it took little imagination to conjure up a vision of his tall Nordic master in his mind's eye and pressing his legs together again; he groaned with arousal.

"Spread your legs apart," Hutch commanded dryly, a smile in his tone. "You aren't allowed to come unless I say so, remember?"

"Yes, sir." Starsky did as instructed, biting his bottom lip in frustration. He slouched back into the seat, gingerly shifting his arms so the sharp edge of the steel cuffs didn't dig into his spine. Wondering how long he would have to suffer with these miserable things, Starsky started to speak, but the words of complaint died in his mouth.  
That would undoubtedly be the wrong way to start the session out. Speaking without being spoken to was the rule he broke most often and he was certain asking whiny questions would get him into trouble. The last thing he wanted was to earn a demerit so quickly.

"We don't have far to go," Hutch assured as though reading his mind. Starsky could feel the powerful car driving through Saturday afternoon traffic, the noise and honks from the other cars somehow reassuring. "But you'll feel like you're on a whole different planet."

"I already do," Starsky replied softly, that perfect sensation of existing only for Hutch descending on him. He could feel his submissive headspace sliding into place and welcomed the calmness that always came with it. The cuffs even pinched less when he accepted being restrained as a natural part of his life.

No more than twenty minutes or so had passed when the car came to a halt and Starsky heard Hutch roll down the window. Although Starsky couldn't see it, Hutch pulled a small blue plastic credit card type card out of his wallet and inserted it into a slot in the reader beside a huge iron gate. A green light lit up on the reader and Hutch pulled the card free, waiting for the gates to open up.

"Is this it?" Starsky asked cautiously, his shoulders and back seriously aching from his awkward position. He now had much more sympathy for anyone he'd ever arrested with this pair of cuffs.

"We're here." Hutch drove past the huge portals, the big car moving like a dream over a smoothly paved road. Starsky could smell eucalyptus trees through the open window and hear the appalling screech of a bird.

"What was that?" he asked in alarm.

"A peacock." Hutch laughed. He slowed the car enough to reach back and pull the sunglasses off his love's face. "They're wild around here."

Gazing out onto a lush growth of trees, Starsky was nearly struck dumb. It was obvious they weren't really out in the wilderness, he could see the top of the fence to the right of the car past a copse of trees. However, some gardener had gone to a maximum of effort to reproduce a wild but accessible forest, complete with colorful fauna. "There are peacocks here!" he exclaimed, seeing one of the majestic birds raise it's amazing tail in a vivid display of blue, aqua and green. Overhead, there was a splash of red and blue as a flock of parrots flew from one branch to another calling raucously to each other.

"Where are we?" Starsky asked in awe.

"Near Bay City."

"But these peacocks and parrots…they're not native to Southern California." 

"They may not be native," Hutch agreed, driving on down the road. A wide green lawn edging the curving shore of a lake awaited them next. Several white swans floated serenely on the water, their graceful necks curved as if in greeting. "But back in the 20's and 30's when movie stars lived around here, they brought in peacocks and parrots and let them loose. They may not be indigenous to California, but they are wild around here."

"Swans are nasty," Starsky commented. "But how come you know all this?"

"Read the brochure," was Hutch's smug answer. "Starsky, that's all you're going to know. You wanted our own little world, this is it."

"Wow, is it ever." Forgetting his sore wrists, he lapsed into silence, enjoying the scenery as much as any nature program he'd ever watched. They passed areas that were meticulously landscaped into perfect symmetry with hedges trimmed like a giant maze; gorgeous rose gardens and other spots where the more common flora of the dry Mediterranean terrain flourished. Scrub oak, olive trees and cypress grew riotous on the side of one hill which looked so ordinary Starsky wondered why the phantom gardener had included such common greenery. But it was all a paradise, just a different slice for every different taste. So far there hadn't been any buildings but he finally saw a sign up ahead with a series of numbers printed on it.

"There we are." Hutch grinned, "We're number 7, to the left."

After another mile, he stopped the car in front of a small two-story bungalow. As Starsky had noticed with the last two places they'd had their assignations, the houses rarely looked any different from any other places. It was what went on inside that distinguished them. That and certain structural modifications.

"Is this one…?" he asked.

"Designed for our needs?" Hutch laughed with an evil smirk, "Yes."

"Can I ask something else?"

"Depends."

"Where does…? How much does all this cost?" Starsky had been pondering this for some time. Hutch obviously paid large expenditures for each of these sessions. Maybe he should be helping out with expenses.

"That in no way concerns you." Hutch climbed out of the car, stretching his long legs. "The money is available. That's all you need to know, and I finally found a reason to use it."

"Yes, sir," Starsky answered uncertainly. Did that mean Hutch had huge sums of money squirreled away somewhere? He'd always known Hutch's family had given him a rarely touched account, but there must be beaucoup bucks to pay for all of this. 

"Get out and get over here." Hutch commanded, opening the door for him and giving Starsky a hand in standing up. "You must be sore after wearing these for so long." He unlocked the cuffs, giving kisses and sweet attention to the red marks on Starsky's wrists. 

The weather had turned warm in the last week in the capricious way of late winter in Southern California and the breeze was a soft caress on Starsky's cheek as Hutch latched onto his mouth. Full lips pressed against Starsky's, Hutch's tongue darting out to penetrate the moist interior of his captive's mouth like a snake hunting for prey. Not protesting in the least, Starsky curved his arms up around his lover, locking their bodies together. Hutch continued his assault on Starsky's oral cavity, questing deeper and deeper, as if attempting to climb inside. His lungs bursting, Starsky tried to pull back but Hutch had pushed him up against the Torino and there was no where else to go. He slid his hands up to Hutch's chest as if to push away, trying to fight the dizziness brought on by the avalanche of kisses. He didn't want them to stop; he just needed some air.

"You have too many clothes on." Hutch pulled back just enough to put a millimeter of space between them. As both men took great gulps of sweet, pine scented air, he stripped off Starsky's leather jacket and shirt, then went to work on his fly.

"H-hutch," Starsky protested, "We're outside still."

"The weather's great." Hutch slid a hand into the opening he'd made with the loosened zipper and claimed the turgid cock trapped in the skintight jeans.

"What if someone sees us?" 

"There's just us here,” Hutch insisted, playing teasing games with the head of Starsky's cock. "We've got the whole place to ourselves."

"Aren't there--uh--at least six other bungalows?" Starsky was finding it harder and harder to speak coherently with those magic fingers playing his flute like a soloist.

"Actually, there's ten all total." Hutch lay off his music practice, working the stonewashed denim over Starsky's butt and halfway down his legs, effectively hobbling him with his own jeans. "But even so, nobody strays far from their cabins. Everything you need is right there." He massaged the strong muscled thighs under his palms, applying just a hint of fingernail to the sensitive skin up near the join of the leg to the groin. 

Starsky quivered, moaning, his breath quickening. What was Hutch's plan and why wouldn't he hurry up with it?

"This whole estate was made just for us, little one, and people like us. You could do it right smack in the middle of the road if it turned you on and nobody around here would look twice." As Hutch spoke he continued rubbing and patting, digging his thumbs into the curve of Starsky's ass before coming back around to gather up the soft velvety scrotum in his hand, rolling the testicles around like worry balls in his big palm.

Starsky was melting and unable to think of a persuasive argument over taking the remainder of the seduction inside. Instead he leaned his hands back against the cooling metal of the car, tilting his head back to bask in the warmth of the sun and his master's fantastic ministrations. Tall evergreens swayed over head in the slight wind and two falcons wheeled and played in the jetstreams. 

He jerked out of his reverie when Hutch squeezed down tightly on his balls as he had done back in the bar, only this time he didn't let go. "You're not paying much attention there."

"You got me so relaxed," Starsky apologized, clenching his jaw to keep from crying out from the pressure on his most sensitive area. "Sorry."

"No sorry about it." Hutch used his other hand to give a sharp, cracking smack on Starsky's bare butt before he let go of the abused sack. "Now you have to work harder for it. Turn around." 

His backside stinging, Starsky shuffled around until he was leaning over the hood of his bright red car. He felt very exposed, nearly nude in the sunshine, with his ass up in the air. But Hutch had ordered him to do this and he obeyed. Why wasn't an issue at this point. Starsky didn't have much experience in the submissive role but he was finding it easier and easier to just go with the flow and not protest so much. It was almost frightening that the sound of Hutch's voice on the phone had reduced him to instantaneous servitude, ready to do his master's bidding without question. He had gone out to the bar, waiting for his master to come with a mounting excitement. Whatever Hutch wanted, he would oblige. Because he knew that obedience brought exquisite torture and intense sexual pleasure, but disobedience only brought pain and lots of it. The memory of the first true punishment with a leather strap was one he wouldn't forget in a hurry. Pain play, with a ruler or paddle slapping his butt had been exciting, even enjoyable, but true punishment stokes were something he'd rather not have again so soon.

"I've been wanting to get inside your lovely ass since we were back in the bar." Hutch applied his wet tongue in a long sweep down Starsky's curved nether cheeks, concentrating his licks close to the puckered anus. He swirled his tongue lovingly around the opening, kneading and pinching the pliant skin with his fingers before plunging his slick tongue into Starsky's center. Saliva dripped down the crack of Starsky's butt, tickling the back of his thighs and he shifted his weight, trying to reach back to relieve the irritant. 

"Don't move," Hutch warned in his dominant voice, tightening his grip on Starsky's hipbones. "Or this will go much harder on you." 

Starsky twisted enough to wiggle out of Hutch's grasp for a moment but was rewarded with a hard slap on his right buttock. A hand grasped the heavy silver chain he wore around his neck, pulling back on it like the reins of a restive horse. The tension around his neck wasn't tight enough to strangle but Starsky stopped, his chest heaving.

"You want this, don't you?" Hutch whispered huskily.

"Yes," Starsky answered. When the hold on his neck loosened, he bucked, almost toppling the blond man. He did want it hard. He wanted Hutch to push in fast and ride him like a broncho. 

"You like it rough, huh?" Hutch straddled Starsky's body with his long legs, one hand on his slave's neck pushing him down onto the fire engine red car. He kept a firm hold on the chain this time, sucking on his long forefinger to cover it with saliva before plunging it into Starsky's hole.

"Noooo," Starsky wailed, trying to buck off his rider again. "I want your cock up my ass!"

"Not so fast. We do it my way, always." Hutch turned his finger around, sliding it in and out in time to Starsky's low non-verbal utterances. 

Closing his eyes Starsky hummed when the one finger was replaced by two. His cheek lay against the still heated hood of the Torino, but the fire that really burned was inside him, mounting with every downward thrust of Hutch's hand. He wanted more, much more than two measly digits, and he wanted them now. "God, Hutch…. ram it in, now!"

"You _never_ top from the bottom," Hutch hissed, removing his fingers to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pale brown leather pants. His cock sprung out, fully engorged and ready for action. "Turn your head and suck me." He pulled Starsky's head around so they were both in a better position for the operation. "Get it really good and wet."

Now Starsky understood that Hutch wanted him to coat the full length with saliva, to use his own spit as lubrication. With this in mind, he applied himself studiously to the task, wanting that giant cock as slippery as possible. He dropped down to his knees, feeling the dirt soft and crumbly under his kneecaps and continued to lavish the steel rod with so much moisture his tongue began to feel rough and dry. Hutch must have realized this because he motioned for Starsky to assume his original position over the car, his face an amazing mixture of sexual bliss and determination. Starsky had begun to notice that even when Hutch was being dominant there got to a point where he had a hard time expressing his desires: when the urges got so strong there were no words to describe them and all he could do was gesture. Starsky bent down again, resting his elbows on the hood this time, propping his face in his hands.

Wasting no time now, Hutch leaned over his target, his pulsing cock like a live thing in his hand. The head burst through Starsky's hard inner ring of muscle with terrific force, arching Starsky up off his elbows in surprise. He didn't mean to, but his inner walls clenched, trying to repel the invader, no matter how much he really wanted that cock inside him. "Huu-uutch," Starsky gasped, "Take me all the way." He was practically kneeling on the car now, to widen the entrance for Hutch's bigness to fit in. But his jeans were so tightly bunched just below his knees he couldn't get his feet that far apart, and he started to slip. 

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," Hutch panted, hanging on. He pushed past the now minimal resistance, filling the tight passageway to the over flowing.

Rocking backward to gain his balance, Starsky forced the issue, impaling himself until his buttocks slapped Hutch's balls. Then, with Starsky straight-armed against the car, Hutch simply lifted Starsky's lower body up until his feet were no longer on the ground. They swayed in perfect coordination, combining their bodily fluids as Hutch emptied his testes in a blasting burst of seed, pushing Starsky up and over into a quaking, shimmying orgasm.

"Damn," Hutch whispered shakily, lowering his lover with arms that trembled from the weight. Starsky could barely stand with his pants bunched below his knees, so he sat down abruptly on the Torino's bumper. 

Hutch pulled his clothes into some semblance of order, looking over at the gorgeous dark haired man. "You're heavier than I expected. Been eating candy bars behind my back?"

"Just this one." Starsky reached up to grab at the limp cock that hung so temptingly in front of his nose from where he sat. Hutch moved just far away to get out of range. "We gonna go in any time soon?" Starsky asked finally, his teeth starting to chatter. He was cold, amazingly so for the fact that he'd felt so incredibly hot only moments before. It might be warm for the first week of February but it was still slightly too chilly to be naked and covered in cooling sweat out of doors. 

"Soon as I find the keys." Hutch laughed, frisking his own pockets for the ring. "You can take your pants the rest of the way down, I was kind of in a hurry there." 

Starsky laughed as he slipped off his shoes, then the crumpled jeans. The problem was, although that made it easier to walk, now he was really cold. His toes curled, seeking the sun-warmed wood of the steps up to the porch, and he slipped his hands under his armpits. He didn't find his nudity to be in the least strange when his master was completely clothed; he just wanted to be inside out of the wind. 

Finally locating the keys in his jacket, which had been left in the car, Hutch unlocked the door and led his shivering partner inside. He left Starsky to warm up on the couch with a blanket out of the hall closet and unloaded the car, transferring perishables to the refrigerator before digging a few necessities out of his overnight bag. 

"Warmed up yet?" Hutch ruffled the dark curls. Starsky laughed, Hutch never could keep his hand off Starsky's hair, and the truth was he liked it. He leaned into the caress, all the while admiring the dark red, jewel-like purple and indigo that decorated the room. It was like being in some sort of modern Arabian palace.

"Yes." Starsky glanced up, wishing they could both just cuddle under this blanket and let the rest slide for an hour or two, but first things first. Besides, he was pretty sure he could persuade Hutch to get under the blankets of the bed in the not too distant future. For now he let the warm, scratchy wool drop onto the couch and knelt down at Hutch's feet with his head lowered, eyes on Hutch's dark brown cowboy boots and his hands resting lightly on his thighs. He was the perfect picture of a slave, ready and waiting for his master's call.

"Do you have any idea how incredibly, overwhelmingly beautiful you look to me right now?" Hutch cupped Starsky's chin in his hand, tilting his face up so he looked up at his master. "You're so fucking gorgeous I can't tear my eyes off you."

"The same back at you," Starsky whispered, his eyes filling with tears. Because of his watery vision, Hutch's blond hair glowed like a halo. Starsky blinked away the moisture, knowing what was coming next. This was his favorite part. If they continued to join together in bondage sessions until he was old and gray, he wanted this ritual to stay exactly the same forever.

Using a tiny key on a keyring with a silver letter 'S' hanging off of it, Hutch unlocked the heavy steel chain from around Starsky's neck and placed it on the high mantel of the fireplace where it would remain until they left the little bungalow. The 'S' stood for more than Starsky's name.

"Who do you belong to?" Hutch solemnly held a brown leather collar at Starsky's eye level, waiting for his reply.

"You, always and forever," Starsky vowed, his throat still so dry after having slobbered over Hutch's cock he could hardly swallow. Or maybe it was just from the prospect of being collared. He really should have taken the opportunity to drink the cola when he'd had it.

For the third time, Hutch banded his slave with a thick leather collar, securing it tightly in the back. Starsky was never allowed to touch the buckles or see himself with the collar around his neck. That was sacrosanct. He was now Hutch's possession, stripped of free will and all rights. Here in their own world he was the lowest one, and Hutch was the almighty. But even so, Starsky had a few shreds of power left to him. 

"What is your safeword?"

"Torino." Starsky almost laughed, thinking of the sexual baptism they'd given his car only a short time before. His safe word was like a magical wand that could immediately stop the action if it was getting too much for him to handle. He'd never yet had reason to use it, but always felt safe knowing it was there, ready to be evoked if the session warranted. 

"I am honored to hold your trust in my hands, you know that, don't you?" Hutch pulled him to his feet, letting Starsky rest his head on his master's shoulder. "Sometimes what I do may hurt or be hard to handle but I will never, ever abuse the power you gave me."

"I know." Starsky nodded kissing Hutch's collarbone through his shirt, the raw silk soft and yet slightly rough on his lips.

"You must be starving by now." Hutch repaid the kiss in kind, then broke free.

"I could even eat one of your sprout sandwiches if I had to." Starsky rubbed his flat belly. The call to go over to the bar had come just after he'd finished a cup of coffee that morning. He'd awakened late and then been too excited to eat any breakfast, waiting impatiently for the right time to leave in order to arrive precisely at one thirty. And then Hutch had been late. It had been a good 18 hours since he'd eaten dinner the night before he realized in surprise. "Whatcha got?"

"The estate supplied us with hors d'oeuvres and I brought something to warm up for dinner later." Hutch explained, pulling a large plate covered with several kinds of cheese, shrimp and caviar out of the fridge. He handed Starsky a serrated knife and a long, phallic French baguette. "Make yourself useful."

Starsky sliced the tiny rounds of bread then piled them into a woven basket and carried them into the living room where Hutch was opening a bottle of Chardonnay. He poured two glasses of white wine, admiring the glow of the pale yellow liquid. Once Starsky had settled down on a plump red pillow next to the low coffee table, Hutch handed him a long-stemmed glass.

"Bottoms up," Starsky toasted, clinking with Hutch.

"You're crude," Hutch chastised. "Salute." They made short work of the food, since in truth, both were hungry and Starsky got his wish of a little cuddle under the tartan blanket after all. Choosing one of the rich-hued pillows that were piled in a heap next to the couch, they lay with their heads close together on a blue velvet one, facing the window. The afternoon was already waning, a big golden sun dipping low behind the abundant vegetation on the estate. The natural beauty of a newly budding cherry tree with a cluster of crocus and other emerging spring flowers growing just outside the house was enough to occupy their attention while they held each close.

"What's the name of this place?" Starsky questioned. Being a detective used to having at least some control over a situation, he was uneasy not knowing where he was. The vague answer Hutch had given 'near Bay City' wasn't enough to satisfy his curiosity.

"You can call it the Estate." 

"What if I wanted to look it up in the phone book?"

"I don't think it's listed."

"What if Dobey needs to call us again?" Starsky asked shrewdly turning to ferret out the truth in Hutch's clear blue eyes.

"I thought you made a rule about not answering the phone, but I did leave him the private number. He won't call."

"I didn't see a phone in here."

"You planning to call out for pizza?" Hutch commented sarcastically. "Starsky, you're courting insubordination."

"No, I'm not, I'm courtin' you." He kissed the blond on the lips, forgetting his argument for some long moments as Hutch covered his face and neck with kisses for just that reason. 

"Had enough?" Hutch traced feather light fingertips along the other man's jaw.

"What…what if we want to come back here some day?" Starsky finally managed despite the distractions.

"I know where it is, and that's the end of this discussion." Hutch raised up on one arm, pushing the blanket back. "Any more and you earn a demerit. Time to get up."

"I don' wanna move." Starsky curled up closer to Hutch; one hand still curved around his master's leather clad thigh.

"Too bad, I have plans," Hutch laughed with slightly evil intent.

"You always do," Starsky sighed, but he was still very interested to find out what was to come. That was the amazing mystery and excitement of bondage. It was never the same twice, and since he'd only had two sessions, there was so much to discover. It could be so scary, though. The pain that accompanied many aspects of BDSM was a little off putting; not that Starsky minded most of the time. It was just that the fear factor was always there, niggling in the back of his mind. Would it hurt? Would he cry? Or would Hutch launch him into spectacular heights of sexual bliss, opening up unexplored vistas too fantastical to be imagined? All of the above and more was probably the answer.

"The question is, where would be the best place to begin." Hutch rubbed his chin thoughtfully, surveying the room. The bungalow was rectangular, the living room taking up most of the front of the house with a long narrow kitchen across the end. A small bathroom was tucked up against the wall on one side, cozied up next to a locked cupboard. The stairs curved up away from the wall, like a twisted sculpture in the middle of the room, steel girders providing the support needed to keep it from swaying. "Go stand under the stairs." Hutch pointed to the exact place he wanted Starsky to stand; indicating a 'D' ring imbedded on the underside of the structure. 

Starsky held out his arms without being told, still fascinated by the process of being buckled into leather wrist cuffs. The soft chamois didn't chafe or bind like the metal cuffs had done, but they felt stiff and unwieldy when in place, reminding him of his servitude, just as the collar did every time he moved his head or swallowed. A pair of ankle cuffs followed, but these had a difference. Once they were on, Hutch inserted a heavy metal rod into a small bracket in the back of each, forcing Starsky's legs to remain about 20 inches apart. 

Connecting the wrist cuffs to a short length of chain, Hutch hoisted Starsky's arms up above his head, hooking the chain to the 'D' ring. The weight of the metal rod helped stabilize his body so there wasn't much sway when he moved. "You okay?" Hutch asked, looking him squarely in the eye.

"I'm fine," Starsky assured, licking his lips. Truth be told, he always had a tiny flutter of fear in his belly when they got to the real nuts and bolts bondage. He had grown to really enjoy being bound. It gave him such a peaceful place to drop into, to let his usual aggressive self take a back seat and relax, but he'd never been restrained without some kind of pain following close behind. The anticipation of that sent adrenaline surging through his veins.

"I saw ones like these at Carlysle's," Hutch chatted casually, rummaging in his gym bag full of toys, "And knew immediately I had to get some for you." He brought out what appeared to be a tiny black sack with several chains attached on one end. The black sack fit snuggly around Starsky's scrotum, just tight enough to make him very aware of it without being uncomfortable. A black band then looped around his erect cock, pooling the blood in his member and immediately increasing the throbbing need already building there. The little chains hung down from the black bag, brushing against his thighs. Starsky squirmed, wanting to pull his thighs together, trying to adjust to the new sensation. 

Smiling grimly, Hutch held up something Starsky recognized with dread. Nipple clamps strung together on a golden chain. 

"Ooh, God." Starsky tensed up as Hutch pinched open one of the vicious little gold clamps. The tiny grips were covered with soft rubber, but once they bit onto his nipples, they were like miniature vices bearing down with unceasing pressure. He quite enjoyed when Hutch played with his nipples, twisting and pulling at the sensitive nubs, but the nipple clamps were so unforgiving without the subtlety of human touch. Starsky managed to keep silent when Hutch snapped the two clamps on simultaneously, but let out a cry of anguish when he tightened the chain. Then to further bedevil his bottom Hutch hung two small silver teardrop shaped weights below each clamp and a third one was added to the chain below the ball sack.

"Hutch!" Starsky wanted to pull away, escape the deep rending pain that gripped his chest and groin. It hurt, more than anything he could remember. He wasn't prepared for this, couldn't accept it. "It hurts, it hurts…" Even though those words wouldn't have any effect on Hutch's actions, Starsky had to say them, just to keep sane. "Stop. It's too much! It hurts!"

"I know, little one, and I wish it didn't have to hurt, but I'll make you feel better." Hutch stroked Starsky's quivering thigh like he'd pet a cat, gentle and lovingly. Taking Starsky's thick, red cock in hand he kissed the end, "Think how good it will feel when I take the clamps off. It won't be long, lover, not long at all." Saying so, he curved his mouth around the stiff rod, licking the whole length with desire. 

Sharp flashes of pain crackled like firecrackers across the nerve endings of Starsky's torso from his chest down to his genitals, refusing to settle into a distant ache that he could acclimate to. Hutch's mouth was the only thing swaying the hold the pain had on him, the luscious pleasure of that warm, wet tongue on his cock an oasis of pleasure in the desert. He tried to crawl into the comforting embrace of that mouth but for every sweet second of suction on his cock there was an answering crescendo of pain engulfing him. 

He finally straddled that illusionary border between pleasure and pain, poised on a pinhead, afraid that one more sensation would send him toppling off his perch. He managed to achieve a tiny slice of perfection where both pleasure and pain mixed for an instant, but it was eggshell fragile. Hutch's enthusiastic devotion to his job had grown increasingly energetic. When he maneuvered in closer between Starsky's thighs to crowd ever more of his love's cock in his mouth, he accidentally bumped the weight hanging from the scrotal sac, sending it swinging wildly like an erratic pendulum.

Starsky screamed loudly as the weight tugged brutally on his aching balls, "Torino!" he yelled with what was left of his strength. 

 

++++++++++++++++++

 

Hutch unclipped the little weights, ball sack and clamps in a remarkably short time considering how slowly he'd put them all on, but Starsky still howled as the blood rushed back into his abused body. He flicked the release on the clamp that held Starsky's hands together, gathering his love into his arms. Not bothering to remove the ankle spreader for now, Hutch hooked his foot around a nearby wingback chair, pulling it close enough to enable him to sit down with Starsky in his lap. The wide spread of Starsky's legs made it an awkward fit but that wasn't terribly important for the moment.

"Hey, hey," Hutch soothed, making soothing circles around Starsky's bright red nipples, but not quite touching them. "It's okay now, you were fantastic." Starsky was crying, his face against Hutch's shoulder, making a mess of the cream-colored raw silk shirt, but Hutch didn't mind. "Sweet love, little one, how are you doing?" he asked gently. He couldn't utter an apology for causing the pain, even though he was sorry it had hurt. After all, that had been the expected outcome, he just hadn't expected to hurt Starsky so badly. But to paraphrase a novel popular a few years earlier, 'Dominance meant never having to say you're sorry'. And that was totally understood by his lover and best friend or he wouldn't have begun the encounter in the first place. 

"Better." Starsky rubbed the back of his hand under his nose, but it didn't help matters. He only smeared the mess around, looking all the world like a tousled child. 

"How was it, otherwise?" Hutch located a box of tissues on the side table with a long arm and cleaned up the dark-haired man's face.

"That little bag thing felt okay, before the fishing weights." Starsky gave a nod, relaxing against Hutch's chest even though his still bound ankles kept him from getting really comfortable. "But those alligator teeth are wicked, like spikes." He regarded the pile of bondage toys on the floor, "You must go shopping all the time."

"I think about you all the time and then I have to plan for the next game," Hutch replied fondly. He kissed Starsky's cheek, his lips skimming the jaw line before his lips met the other's, drawn there as if by magnets. 

"What other games do you have in mind?" Starsky asked with a reckless grin, so close Hutch could see himself reflected in those fathomless deep blue eyes.

"You'll find out. But first something to keep our strength up." Hutch gave Starsky a gentle shove to push him up onto his widely braced feet. "Stand up so I can go warm up the chowder.

"I can't balance with this thing on," Starsky complained grabbing hold of the chair. Even so, he teetered, the rigid bar restricting his stance. "Take it off."

"Is that a question or a demand?" Hutch bristled, drawing himself up to use his height as power.

"Hutch, I hurt, an' this thing…" Starsky's voice died away abruptly at the stern expression in the blond's eyes. Just Hutch's finger pointing stiffly at him was enough to make him back down. "I was wrong, okay? I know it, I should wear this damn…thing for the rest of the day."

"I like the look on you." Hutch softened but with a somewhat perverse reaction to Starsky's demands. As much as Starsky wanted the rod removed, Hutch was determined to leave it on. He never meant for Starsky to feel guilty but there were times when it was necessary to make a show of dominance. "It'll slow you down so I don't have to run as fast to keep up." Hutch put his arms around Starsky's shoulders, touching forehead to forehead. "I love you."

"Am I in trouble?"

"Your first demerit of the day." He didn't tell Starsky one demerit wasn't enough to get him to bring out the whip. Hutch had already decided that he didn't want every session to be about pain and especially about punishment. Today's incident just solidified his theory that a little pain play went a long way. Starsky's anticipation of pain shouldn't cancel out his enthusiasm for the more arousing and pleasurable aspects of their time together. This was supposed to be fun, and if all Hutch ever did was keep adding more rules that Starsky just broke, the punishments would start to pile up. He was glad he hadn't yet bought a whip or spanking implement. It didn't seem fair to apply the whip when only a few strokes were due. A better plan was to have the demerits build up until there were enough to warrant the ritual of a real punishment, then focus a really intense session around that. Perhaps every other time, if they ever made it through the end of this one. 

"Sit down while I make some dinner." Hutch helped Starsky sit more comfortably in the wingback chair. By angling his knees towards each other Starsky could sit leaning back but the spreader bar splayed his ankles out so he couldn't get up on his own. Starsky looked decidedly grumpy about it, his cock lying limply between his thighs like a deflated balloon.

"I've got a few ideas for that thing. Leave it on through dinner." Hutch couldn't resist reaching over to run a teasing finger over the tempting target. Starsky rocked his hips forward, obviously wanting Hutch's hand wrapped around his shaft, but Hutch just tweaked the end and then walked into the kitchen. Starsky sucked on his bottom lip, shifting his hips in discomfort but didn't raise a protest.

Opening a plastic container Hutch poured creamy clam chowder into a pot and started ripping up lettuce leaves for salad. He'd brought vine ripened tomatoes and slices of crunchy cucumber to complete the dish and was trying to decide whether to make a vinaigrette for dressing or use the blue cheese he'd included in the cooler.

"Hutch," Starsky called plaintively.

"Yes?" Looking over the breakfast bar Hutch felt a swell of incredible emotion fill his chest. Starsky looked like some dark supernatural creature, a Satyr perhaps, hobbled by the leather and metal that bound him in this world. The dark curly hair that covered his body gave him such an exotic appearance next to Hutch's smooth, blond paleness that they truly seemed to belong in different worlds. Just the sight of Starsky alive and breathing could arouse Hutch at times like this. After Gunther's bullets had ripped open that beautiful body Hutch had been sure Starsky would never be able to lead a normal life again. That he regained his old exuberance and made it back onto the police force was a miracle of mythic proportions. That the horrendous events had propelled the two of them into a sexual relationship was so awe inspiring Hutch sometimes had to indulge in rapt admiration of his true love for the sheer joy of it. 

"I have to pee."

"Oh." Hutch refocused on the here and now. "Can you wait a minute? I'll wash my hands." He had recently been reading a book on topping that devoted one whole chapter to the advantages of water sports and bladder training. Or how to take total control by forcing the bottom to ask for all bathroom privileges. This struck him as debasement of the crudest form, and it would never fit into his game plan. "I'm coming."

"So am I, can you hurry?" 

Hutch chuckled, releasing Starsky from the cuffs and ankle spreader. Starsky dashed for the toilet with the speed of an Olympic sprinter. Then there was the fact that Starsky had a bladder the size of a pea. It would probably be pointless and frustrating to try and train that miniscule thing anyway.

Fighting back an overwhelming feeling that he was being mean, Hutch contemplated his dominant side. There was no doubt that he did like the whole control power trip. But he didn't intend to come across as a tyrant. Starsky had to be able to maintain his pride and self worth at all costs. There was such a narrow margin between dominance in the sexual arena and being deliberately cruel. How far was too far? What if he lost sight of his humanity and gave into that streak of savagery that dwelt within even the kindest person? It kept him humble, this fear that he could step over that invisible line and really injure his slave. What happened when the stakes got higher? Right now they were just experimenting, testing the waters, so to speak, of what bondage had to offer. If Starsky learned to tolerate more intense pain play, could he be injured without either of them knowing?

Hutch had to be so vigilant. He'd been so wrapped up in trying to distract Starsky from the extreme discomfort caused by the clamps and weights that he'd nearly forgotten his primary job: to keep his submissive safe. But the blowjob had been so much fun. He'd been trying so hard to give Starsky a modicum of pleasure and ended up adding to the pain. He tucked the sense of failure deep in the recesses of his mind to mull over in some other place, now was time to move on.

A warm hand snaked around the tall, blond's waist. "What's wrong?" Starsky asked with concern.

"Nothing, really." Hutch pointed to the kitchen. "Chowder's probably ready. Set the table?"

Preparations for the meal gave both something concrete to concentrate on so that by the time they were eating, each had weathered their respective rough patches and met back on common ground.

"S'good," Starsky nodded, spooning up the thick, tasty soup. 

"One of my Mom's best recipes."

"D'you think I wimped out?" Starsky stared at his nearly empty bowl instead of meeting Hutch's gaze.

"Oh, Starsk." Hutch's heart went out to him. Starsky was fiddling with his spoon; his shoulders slumped forward as if he were guilty for letting the pain get to him. "For using your safeword? Never. That's what it's there for." He closed his hand around Starsky's, waiting until the pointed chin raised and they were looking eye to eye. "The situation got too much for you and you let me know. I need to know what you're feeling. I'm proud of you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Picking up the dishes and depositing them in the kitchen, Hutch leaned against the dividing wall between the two rooms, languid and sensual. "Are you in the mood for dessert?" It was pretty much a trick question; Starsky was always ready for sweets.

"Whatcha got?"

"Chocolate Fudge sauce."

"That's it?" Starsky knit his brow, "What're you gonna put it on? Strawberries? Ice cream?"

"You." Hutch said with a broad grin, already anticipating the feast.

"Oh," Starsky giggled, "Don't I get any?"

"Me first, then you get what's left." Hutch couldn't wait to taste the mingled flavors of Starsky covered in chocolate. His mouth was already watering. "Let's take this upstairs--I've got a vinyl sheet to protect the bed and the bath tub'll be that much closer afterwards." He made shooing motions as Starsky stood, "Get up those stairs."

"You just wanna watch my butt."

"I always watch your back, partner." 

Starsky scampered up the twisting stairs, wiggling his derriere coyly at his master. Hutch managed to grab the gym bag full of toys before charging up after his prize. The stairs swayed slightly with their combined weight pounding up the risers.

Starsky had already made it into a large master bedroom by the time Hutch arrived and was wandering around examining the furnishings. The bed was massive, big enough for three or four adults, topped by an enormous open lattice headboard just made for shackling limbs in interesting contortions. As with the living room, multicolored silk, satin and velvet pillows abounded on the bed and floor, for lounging wherever the action demanded. Burgundy curtains shot through with gold thread framed a window looking out into the branches of evergreens.

"Feels like we're in a treehouse." Starsky put a hand to the glass, almost touching two parrots that were perched inches away.

"Our own secret hide-away." Hutch pulled Starsky up close, standing behind him so his chin rested on Starsky's shoulder. He nuzzled the warm, sweet spot just below the leather collar where the neck sloped down to meet the shoulder. Starsky shivered, goosebumps breaking out on his flesh from the intimate contact.

"I love you so much." Starsky clasped the hands that went around his waist like a belt, "Hutch, I love you so much it hurts sometimes. Sometimes I'm afraid I'll…" He turned around in Hutch's embrace, not wanting those long-fingered hands to let go.

"What?" Hutch asked softly, gathering him in as closely as he could. Starsky felt needy in a way that he usually didn't admit to.

"When we're not together even if you're just across the room, it's like I'm dying…I need to feel your hands on me," Starsky was like an addict, craving his drug of choice--Hutch's touch. His skin quivered every place there was contact between them, the warmth of Hutch's skin against his both soothing and electric. "Do what ever you want to me, I don't care, just don't leave me?" The memory of their fight the night of Carlysle's murder suddenly frightened him. Even though they were together, once more on a bondage weekend, he was afraid that his ambivalence over Hutch's punishing him with the leather strap would change things.

"What brought this on?" Hutch stroked his lover's arms, smoothing out the goosebumps and massaging the tension that resided there, "I thought we worked everything out."

"I don't know, I just…looking out there into the trees, it seemed so lonely."

"You'll never be alone," Hutch vowed, leaning in for one little kiss. It quickly multiplied into a host of kisses, each one more passionate than the last. "Being with you is always fantastic, but when we're like this…it's so fucking perfect. You are more amazing every time we do this. I throw stuff at you and you never miss a beat, you just go with every single…"

"I guess I found my calling," Starsky joked, his emotions on a more even keel. "Now, where's that chocolate sauce?"

Hutch gave him one last kiss, then opened the gym bag he'd left on the floor. Starsky waited, watching with excitement. Like the collar and cuffs around his neck, he was never allowed to touch the gym bag or its contents. But sometimes he imagined it to be akin to Mary Poppins' magic carpetbag. Unimaginable things emerged from that bag, sex toys he'd never seen before, new and devious ways to tie him up and now a big vinyl sheet and a jar of thick, delicious chocolate. "Pull back the coverlet and put this on the bed." Hutch instructed while undressing. 

Starsky did so, stepping back to admire the view, only the one inside the bungalow this time. Hutch's long, sleek torso was close to god-like, in Starsky's opinion. He could easily imagine that blond, swimmer's body gliding alongside dolphins through the waters of a mystical sea, erupting up out of the waves with nary a splash to present himself at the altar of Zeus himself. There, Hutch would be crowned with olive leaves and hailed as Hercules' brother, just as strong, gorgeous and talented as his sibling. 

"Hey, were you listening a minute ago?" Hutch's masterful voice jolted Starsky out of his reverie, "I told you to put that on the bed. Are you asking for a demerit?"

No, he certainly was not. Starsky hurriedly draped the cloth over the burgundy and gold Opium patterned sheets. Then, climbing onto the bed he knelt in full slave position: settling back on his heels, hands on his thighs, eyes downward so that his chin dug into the edge of his collar.

"So sweet." Hutch slid a hand down to cup Starsky's very interested genitals, fondling them with a possessive hand. "All for me. You were made for this, Starsk."

"I know."

"Lie back and grab the slats of the bed, put your arms as far apart as you can comfortably." 

Starsky complied. The bed was so huge he wasn't even touching both ends of the headboard, but when Hutch grasped Starsky's arms, he pulled them one slat further over, shackling each cuff tightly to the rings tucked neatly into each wooden slat. 

"Oh, man." Starsky already felt the incredible strain on his shoulders and swallowed with a gulp. Restrained with his arms this far apart, he was arched up slightly, unable to lie completely flat on the bed. Hutch stuffed a few pillows under the curve of Starsky's body before retrieving the ankle cuffs and spreader bar from the gym bag. He attached these with practiced ease so that Starsky was spread eagled on the bed, but with his legs more mobile than they would be tied to the footboard.

"Now comes dessert." Hutch held up a small round jar with a fancy gold embossed label and a paintbrush. "It says to apply liberally and then enjoy with sex. Sounds easy enough, don't you think?"

"So easy even you could do it," Starsky teased, then realized with horror that he'd slipped out of character. He's answered as if they were joking back in the Torino on a stakeout, not as a submissive to his master. Prudently, he held his tongue, flicking a worried glance at Hutch.

"One more demerit," was all Hutch said, going about his task with the dexterity of a housepainter. He slapped the chocolate laden brush over Starsky's abdomen, applying a thick layer of fudge sauce to every inch of skin from the belly button down to the pelvis. For the moment he avoided the waiting cock standing up so prettily, and made sure his strokes were long and regular, flicking back and forth between the hipbones.

It was halfway between tickling and itchy, making Starsky squirm and wiggle away from the soft brush. The chocolate aroma coiled around him, smelling of cookies and hot cocoa as his body temperature heated up the concoction. He longed to taste some of that sweet flavor on Hutch's body, but first had to endure Hutch's teasing.

Once Starsky was nearly as enrobed in chocolate as a marshmallow egg at Easter time, Hutch swirled one finger through the goo, then raised his tasty treat up to his mouth. He licked the chocolate off making yummy sounds that only succeeded in spurring Starsky's excitement.

"Please, Master," Starsky cooed, trying to sound as submissive as possible, "May I have a taste?"

"Have you been good?" Hutch asked, blue eyes twinkling wickedly. Starsky chuckled at the transformation of his usually calm and in-control partner. 

"I try."

"More like not very hard." Hutch flicked his tongue out, dipping it into the tiny well of chocolate in Starsky's belly button. "Tastes great."

"You want me to beg, don't you." Starsky tried to control the urge to squirm as Hutch lapped up chocolate, licking and tasting all across his flat belly. Starsky wanted to thrust his cock straight into that luscious mouth.

"It's the only way you're going to get any right now," Hutch said with his head still ducked over his giant chocolate bunny. He nipped, his teeth sharp on the tight skin over Starsky's hipbone and Starsky bucked, yelping in surprise.

"Please, Master, please…kiss me," Starsky begged, gasping with every single movement of Hutch's mouth over his supercharged skin. At least a kiss would bring that mouth up close to his, and he'd taste some of the chocolatey goodness for himself. 

"A kiss?" Hutch laughed sensually. "Starsky, Hershey's makes chocolate kisses, not me." He went back to his task, but he'd removed most of the brown cream from his slave's belly and now concentrated lower, on the hugely swollen cock and balls. He plunged his whole hand into the jar of chocolate sauce, raising his hand up dripping with thick, pungent dark cream then went to work turning Starsky's stiff rod into a fudgecicle. Once his creation was complete, Hutch regarded his hand with a gleam in his sky blue eyes. Pre-cum had mingled with the sweet mess, making an interesting new concoction that he was eager to try. But even more eager was his bound supplicant. Starsky was arching forward, putting immense strain on his shoulder muscles in an attempt to get anything more than chocolate around his cock.

"You want a taste?" Hutch asked.

"Please." Starsky's reply was hardly above a whisper, his breath coming in short ragged puffs of air that vibrated his belly and chest.

"Lick it off." Hutch laughed holding his coated fingers up close to Starsky's mouth. With a forefinger, he traced the outline of Starsky's lower lip, leaving a trail of chocolate behind.

Darting his tongue out to lick up the residue, Starsky encountered the thumb pressed against his philtrum and sucked it in. Decadently rich, sinfully smooth chocolate filled his mouth as he clamped down on that thumb, his tongue hugging the rounded end, pretending it was a tiny, perfect cock. There was a hint of salty bitterness in the sauce that Starsky recognized as his own essence. He swallowed himself, letting his own seed fill his body, to rebirth his soul. This was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. To give his all for Hutch, and be given so much more in return. 

Starsky moaned with disappointment when Hutch popped the thumb out, but he quickly replaced it with each of the other four sisters, until Starsky was half drunk on the food of the gods. He was so high he barely felt the restraints binding him to the bed.

With his hand now clean, Hutch applied it to more southern regions, circling the chocolate stick with his thumb and forefinger. He slicked a small amount of sweetness on the balls behind and slipped one into his own mouth, tonguing the sensitive sack until Starsky was begging him to stop and keep going at the same time.

"Ohyeahgod!" Starsky rocked forward, wanting the fingers around his shaft to move or rub, something, he was so close to the edge it hurt like heaven.

"You think I'm a god?" 

"I think you're everything," Starsky gasped, his eyes shut.

"You want me to finish you off?" Hutch took his mouth off his partner's balls, tightening his grip on the cock at the same time. Starsky screamed with pleasure, needing to move, to grab himself, anything to relieve the intense pressure built up inside him but Hutch was kneeling across the spreader bar, making it impossible for Starsky to do anything but wait.

 

"Finish me off, please, so I can die happy." 

"Your wish is my command." Hutch pumped his hand twice then grinned as Starsky seemed to soar into space without moving a foot off the bed. 

"That was terrific," Starsky whispered when he had learned how to breathe again.

"Now the master gets his turn," Hutch said haughtily, but with a grin on his face.

"Bring it on, big boy," Starsky grinned in return. This was fun, even with his hips beginning to protest the wide spread of his legs. He eyed Hutch's monstrous erection with anticipation, wondering how much of it he could jam into his mouth. He was willing to try deep throating Hutch again, but the sensation of having his airway cut off was a very frightening one. Still, practice made perfect and he was certainly ready for some intense training.

"Wait a minute." Hutch sat back on his heels, contemplating his nicely bound slave covered in streaks of chocolate. His position put pressure on the bar keeping Starsky's feet apart and Starsky groaned at the added weight on his strained muscles.  
Hutch moved slightly then helped Starsky bend his knees to pull his legs up into a more comfortable position. "I've got an idea."

"Hu-u-u-tch," Starsky moaned, staring at the tempting penis only a few feet away. He wanted it dipped in chocolate and inserted into his mouth as soon as possible. 

"Be patient," Hutch leered at him, taking himself in hand and waggling the fat cock at Starsky. "Do you remember how to make a 'T' in sign language?"

"Yes," Starsky answered, puzzled. He and Hutch had both taken a class in sign language offered by the department to facilitate communication with the deaf. "Why are you thinking about this _now_?"

"You need a way to use you safeword even if your mouth is otherwise engaged."

"As if full?" Starsky stared longingly at the object of his desire. It was frustrating as hell to be trussed up like this. Any other time he could have just reached out and grabbed hold when the occasion first presented itself.

"Or gagged."

"Oh," Starsky lapsed in silence, his eyes wide. So there might be a gag in his future. He didn't know why, but that scared him more than some other things he could think of.

"Can you do this with the cuffs on?" Hutch inserted his thumb between his first and second fingers, forming the handshape for the letter 'T'. "With your left, right?"

"Right, my left," Starsky laughed, duplicating the finger symbol without difficulty.

"Good, that takes care of business. Now, where were we?" he asked wickedly.

"Just about time for Starsky to get his dessert?"

"You wanted cock with your chocolate?"

"I want it anyway it's served," Starsky sighed, wondering how Hutch could be so calm when his erection and swollen balls must be driving him crazy. They were certainly driving Starsky crazy.

Hutch simply dipped his penis into the nearly empty jar, then signaled for his slave to straighten out his legs. Starsky knew by the silent communication that Hutch was closer to the edge than he was letting on. It must be hard to keep the dominant attitude when all you wanted was to fly. Chuckling softly, Starsky had to wait until Hutch knee-walked up the bed, crouching over his chest with his knees planted on each side. It was most definitely a dominant position with Hutch nearly sitting on Starsky's chest, but Starsky wasn't intimidated. He just wanted his just desserts now.

"You can do anything you want to for the first few minutes but when I can't control it any longer I'm going to ram down your throat, and you're gonna take every inch." Hutch said, his breath coming quicker. He was obviously ready to come, and Starsky was happy to help out. "You understand? Use the 'T' if you have to." Without another word, he let the head of his cock slip inside Starsky's waiting lips. 

Using his tongue Starsky explored the rounded end, enjoying the way the chocolate coated his mouth with divine flavor, then trying to push back the foreskin to discover the sensitive regions underneath. Hutch moaned with pleasure, grabbing hold of the headboard to steady himself. Due to Starsky's industrious ministrations Hutch's cock was swelling to enormous proportions, stretching Starsky's lips beyond previous dimensions. He wasn't certain his jaw would open widely enough to take the whole breadth of the thing in and strained to accept every inch. Starsky's heart was already pounding loudly in his ears, and he drew on every bit of resolve not to panic when Hutch began to fuck his mouth with brutal thrusts. This was it.

Taking what he suspected would be his last unencumbered breath for a few minutes, Starsky sucked, pulling more of the stiff rod into his mouth. Given this invitation, Hutch forced his whole length in without further ado. Immediately Starsky was trapped, his head pushed into the pillows, his sight blocked by the pelvis so close in front of him, his breath straining in his lungs. Hutch climaxed hard and furiously, semen gushing out in a warm thick stream that poured down Starsky's throat. He could still half taste the chocolate but the rest was all Hutch. He swallowed reflexively; gulping, closing his eyes and letting his free will float away, accepting this offering of love and devotion from his master. He was the vessel for Hutch to fill up.

The fear that Starsky had had of suffocating vanished as he floated up on the winds of time, deliriously happy to be serving his Hutch in every capacity. There was no thought of using the safeword. His enthrallment was complete with the satisfaction of doing exactly what Hutch had ordered. 

"Starsk?" Hutch whispered. It took Starsky a few seconds to swim through the thick sea and surface, but he opened his eyes to see Hutch's sky blue ones peering at him anxiously. "You blacked out."

"I didn't even notice." He took a jaw-cracking breath, filling his aching lungs. "You cast a spell on me."

"We both gotta work on our technique." Hutch laughed shakily, but he still looked concerned. "I kinda thought you'd worked some magic on me, too."

"Must be this place," Starsky murmured, smiling when Hutch began to unfasten his ankles from the spreader bar. "It's not natural t'have parrots n' peacocks watchin' you make love."

Hutch kissed each ankle as he freed them, rubbing Starsky's toes and arches tenderly. "Anything hurt?" 

"Not down there."

"Where then?"

"My shoulders are killin' me, but with what you're doin' on my feet, they can wait," Starsky sighed blissfully.

"Can't have your shoulders protesting." Hutch pressed deeply with his thumbs on the bottoms of Starsky's feet then moved up the body to unclip the wrist cuffs from the headboard. 

Starsky couldn't help a groan of pain as his strained muscles screamed out the change, and he curled over in a fetal position for a moment, hugging his arms to his chest. Hutch made gentle circles on his naked back, kissing him so softly it was almost like a spring wind caressing his shoulder blades.

"Tell me when you're ready for a nice hot bath."

"I can't move."

"Yes, you can. A glass of wine in the bath, and you'll be limp as a noodle.  
"  
"As opposed to feeling like I hit a brick wall?" Starsky quipped, still feeling light headed. "I'm sorry, Hutch…"

"Nothin' to be sorry about. I know that feeling all too clearly. You remember there were days just after the academy when you'd come to pick me up and I said I had a hangover?"

"Yeah." Starsky recalled wondering if his then new best friend had a drinking problem, but had never pushed too hard to find out. Then after his divorce, the problem seemed to vanish over night.

"Post-bondage hangover more like. A hot bath and a massage works best, but there were nights I stumbled past Vanessa and little knots of people still half tied up, then raced home just in time to get dressed in my blues to go to work."

"Man, an' I know how I felt after you…after being hit with the strap." Starsky sat up, amazed that Hutch was revealing all this to him. It was like reading new undiscovered chapters of a book he'd thought he had he knew by heart and then trying to integrate them into the story he already knew. 

"I didn't get whipped very often," Hutch admitted. "Maybe only two or three times ever. Vanessa liked it though, a lot."

"That's the hardest part, so far." Starsky pushed his foot forward so his toes were overlapping Hutch's. They played footsy, with Starsky winning, claiming Hutch's ankles with the soles of his feet before Hutch took charge again with a half-hearted slap on Starsky's knee. "It just plain hurts, even when it's a good hurt. But the bondage…"  
Starsky grinned, "Sometimes I can get hard just thinkin' about it."

"You do, huh?" Hutch encircled the ankle lying next to his with long fingers, applying just enough pressure to make Starsky squirm. "That's good, cause I have some plans about tomorrow morning."

"Always got plans." 

"Like a Boy Scout, got to be prepared, Starsk." Hutch released his slave's ankle, getting off the bed. "I'll tell you in the bathtub."

"Together?" Starsky asked hopefully.

"Of course, have you seen the size of this thing? There's enough room for an orgy." He threw open the bathroom door. Like the rest of the house, there was a vaguely Sultan's palace air to the room, with gold fixtures and a skylight above the tub. Hutch lit some candles that were set back into safe niches. Instantly, the room was suffused with a romantic soft glow when he turned out the over head lights. 

"I wasn't exactly payin' attention to the plumbing." Starsky got up too. Stretching, his vertebrae popped loudly when he bent forward to relieve the cramped tension in his back. "Well, except yours." He got distracted watching Hutch move around the tiled room setting the next scene. The candles caught the delicate highlights of Hutch's pale blond hair, silvering the edges so he looked like some divine being in a classical painting.

Hutch chuckled, collecting fluffy burgundy towels and some bath salts. He turned on the tap to fill the deep tub. Adding the salts, he adjusted the hot water a little before turning on the Jacuzzi jets. "Everybody into the pool."

"Can we play Marco Polo?" Starsky asked, checking to see where Hutch's most intimate parts were before he closed his eyes. He unerringly found the part of the anatomy he'd been aiming for without sight. 

"Careful, slave," Hutch snapped, all dominant again. "You just earned yourself a demerit for touching what is off limits until I say so."

"Yes, sir." Starsky froze, his eyes snapping open. He'd forgotten his place again and would have to live with the consequences.

"Get in the tub. You're all covered in chocolate."

The water was almost but not quite too hot. Starsky had to slip in slowly, letting his body acclimate, but once completely submerged, his various aches and pains seemed to melt in the soothing waters. Hutch washed Starsky's body and then Starsky washed Hutch's. There was not so much a sexual aspect to their touching as a mutual need to feel each other's skin, to come together as soul mates and not as dominant and submissive.

"I wanna take it easy tomorrow morning, relatively speaking and work more on some training." Hutch began when they were both leaning back against the tiled edge of the tub, the bubbles the only thing separating them.

"Training?" Starsky asked suspiciously.

"I've been so into plunging right into the fun stuff I haven't worked very hard at establishing the ground rules and your training."

"Oh, yeah," Starsky ducked his head. "Don't talk back, don't look directly at your master, do what the master tells you…The hard stuff."

"Yeah." Hutch cupped the lowered chin in the palm of his hand, raising Starsky's head until their mouths were level with each other and kissed him sweetly on the lips. 

Several more followed with each kiss harder than the last, until Starsky was feeling distinctly ravaged. He licked his bruised lips, watching Hutch's every move. It was almost frightening the power this man had over him and yet he didn't feel the slightest bit imprisoned. More like Hutch's dominance empowered him to be and do more than he'd ever imagined he could. 

"We can work on the rules next time," Hutch continued talking. "Tomorrow will be more like…uh…exercises to stretch your muscles for the main event."

"Which muscles are we talking about?"

"Just a minute, I'm gonna go get a few things." Hutch stepped out of the tub, the water dripping off his long, elegant body. He wrapped one of the huge fluffy towels around himself, hiding the impressive view from Starsky's sight. "Pull the plug and dry yourself off. Then bundle that vinyl sheet into a ball and get back into bed."

Starsky was distinctly frustrated with having to wait and was glad to have something to do. He stared at the little pile of cuffs and collar on the corner of the marble countertop. Hutch had removed them after they'd gotten in the water and he felt more than naked without them. But he didn't touch any of the coils of leather, waiting until his master replaced them on his body.

By the time Hutch returned with a tray laden with a bottle of wine, glasses and some crackers and cheese, Starsky was sitting cross-legged on the Opium print sheets. Hutch had changed into the blue silk dressing gown he only wore when they were together like this, once again dressed while his slave was naked. He ran a loving hand down Starsky's spine, tracing the prominent vertebrae as if he were counting each one. Rubbing his thumbs in soothing circles, Hutch smiled when Starsky went practically limp without ever looking behind him, trusting the hand so near his vulnerable neck without a second thought. Hutch touched his lips to the sweet space just under the hairline, then blew air over the tiny wet spot he'd made. 

Starsky shivered, his whole body erupting in goosebumps simultaneously.

"Feels half good and half like you're walkin' over my grave." Starsky tried to stop the involuntary fear response that crawled up his backbone. Hutch still held the base of his skull, stroking him behind the ears with strong fingers calming the involuntary fight or flight response.

"I don't ever want to walk there," Hutch smiled sadly.

Twisting around to look up at the beautiful blond man above him, Starsky wished he could banish the haunted look that lingered on Hutch's face. "I'm here, I never really died."

"You did." Hutch picked up the collar, looking pensively at it. "You left me alone on the earth. Just for a tiny space of time, but you died, Starsk. Maybe that's why I want to keep you on a leash, so you can't escape so far next time."

"There won't be a next time, Hutch. I'm yours for the duration."

"Duration of what is the question?" Hutch joked, wrapping the collar around his slave's neck with less of a formality than earlier, but still with regal solemnity. He buckled the heavy buckle in the back, careful to avoid getting Starsky's long curls entangled and sealed the collar with a kiss over the heady scented leather. Trailing his hand once again down the naked back, Hutch traced the bullet scars still visible.

"I like your back, cause you can't see it."

"Huh? You're always accusin' me of saying things that don't mean anything."

"It's like it's all mine." Hutch spread his fingers over Starsky's scapula, kissing him directly between the two sharp bones. "Only I see it from this angle, naked and beautiful."

"Does that make your back mine?" Starsky tipped his head back as far as he could with the collar on to see Hutch.

"Nobody else has staked a claim so far." He held out a small cup of water. "Here, drink this before the wine or you'll have one hell of a headache on only one glass. You're probably pretty dehydrated."

Surprised to realize that he was, Starsky drank the water down in three swallows, luxuriating in being so cosseted. Hutch continued to lazily massage his back with long warm strokes of his hands, writing secret love messages in code with his fingernails. Starsky felt safe and loved here with Hutch, the usual elements of their violent life as detectives very far away. Carlysle's murder was solved, her murderer being assessed for her ability to stand trial, and any drug dealers and other criminals would have to do without Starsky and Hutch for a few days. He sighed with contentment, watching Hutch putter around pouring glasses of deep red wine. 

Hutch grinned back at him, his eyes bright with love and linked arms with Starsky, twisting their wrists around so that each drank from the other's goblet. It was a rich, heavy flavored wine that seemed to go straight to Starsky's head. He attacked the food ravenously, neither of them caring that they got crumbs on the sheets. While they were eating, Hutch brought out a small box, placing it between them on the bed. He didn't refer to it in the least, just ate a few more crackers as if there were nothing mysterious sitting there like undiscovered treasure

"So, am I allowed to ask what's in the box?" Starsky asked when he felt he'd endured the suspense long enough. Hutch brushed off his hands, taking longer than necessary to place the tray and wine on the floor before carefully opening the box.

"Have you ever seen one of these before?" he pulled out a small rubber object shaped vaguely like a joystick on an arcade game. It was about four inches long and wasn't quite as wide as three fingers. It flared slightly wider in the middle than at the top, then narrowed to a thin neck supported by a flat base.

Downing the last of the fruity wine in one gulp, Starsky set down his glass and took the small toy, turning it around with a slight frown. "At Uncle Sal's toy store," he joked half-heartedly. "You want to stick that up inside me?"

"That's the smallest one." Hutch handed him a second butt plug that was an inch longer and about that much wider, maybe a shade smaller than his cock when fully engorged. "Here's the medium-sized one. I won't show you the biggest one until we need it. For tonight, just get used to the idea of having those up your ass."

"Yeah, that's a tall order." Starsky swallowed audibly, wondering how much bigger the biggest one could be and did he really want to know. 

 

"Don't worry about it so much," Hutch said, taking the toys and stowing them back in the box, "You've had me up there plenty of times, these are smaller."

"Yeah, piece a' cake," Starsky said shakily, but curled into Hutch's embrace, cuddling up to the warm, smooth chest. "Nothing to it at all." With the wine and the long day Starsky was so exhausted he fell asleep in this safe enclosure just as he'd barely finished his sentence.

Hutch tried to succumb to the sandman, but sleep was elusive. After forcing himself to relax, closing his eyes tightly and them trying to coordinate his breath rate with Starsky's slow steady pace, he gave up. His mind was still going in a million different directions and he couldn't quite pin any one thread of ideas down long enough to follow it through. He was high on the power of his role, giddy with his success. He couldn't help going over the day's activities, checking them for what had worked and what hadn't, studying his plays like the coach before his high school football games. Being the dominant kept him on his toes mentally at all times. There were so many elements to juggle. Was the submissive safe? Was he enjoying what was being done to him? Was the master getting what he needed from the games as well? Were both parties satisfied with their experiences? So far, Hutch had to give things a resounding thumbs up. 

He lay on his right side watching shadows play chiaroscuro games across Starsky's puckish features. The moonbeams slid like silver across the bed, flocking the outlines of the furniture like frost on a freezing day. The diamond glinting in Starsky's left ear caught the shifting beams, shining like a beacon in the dark, beckoning Hutch closer. His hand hovered near the tempting jewel before he allowed himself to just brush the surface of his lover's hair.

Outside the safety of the house, brisk winds tossed the clouds across the lunar face, but here in the bed, peacefulness reigned. Sometimes the room gleamed with moonlight and at other moments it was dark and velvety as the emptiness of space. When he could no longer see the person next to him, Hutch reached out to lay his palm flat on Starsky's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. He had such a staggering love for his partner, sometimes it was like a physical thing that he needed to hold in his hand.

The intoxicating psychic rush he'd gotten when Starsky had completely surrendered while deep throating him had been unlike anything he'd ever experienced previously. The aftereffects still rippled through his system, giving him the sense of a vampire feeding off the power of his victims. More powerful than the rush of adrenaline when he was in the midst of a gunfight, it was seductively addictive. Hutch hungered for this power but was equally afraid of it. He kept imagining it as some fearsome beast running roughshod over his common sense, spilling over into his regular life until he was dominating Starsky physically while they were trying to do their police work. That couldn't happen, especially if they decided to work out a permanent daily master/slave relationship. He didn't want to totally submerge Starsky by any means and had to constantly fight to keep their every day partnership a more equal one. Luckily, Starsky's stubborn and aggressive nature would never let him be completely dominated, but perhaps he could be tamed. That he would let Hutch do it gave Hutch a heady feeling of power and yet also a humbling responsibility.

He liked the steady thrum of Starsky's heart under his hand. He'd started sleeping with his hand like this shortly after the bandages had been removed two years before. Then it had been a sort of comfort measure--not for Starsky but for himself. To reassure himself that Starsky really still lived. Now it was almost more habit. 

Earlier, it had been scary but not totally unexpected when Starsky passed out, and for just a split second he'd panicked before seeing Starsky take a shuddering intake of breath. That happened more often than anyone ever talked about, which was why cutting off the airway was such a dangerous thing to do. Therefore, Hutch wouldn't allow that kind of play very often, but he wasn't ready to discount deep throating altogether. He vowed to study every book he could find on domination and training methods, to devine the most effective methods to use and still have sessions packed full of the most amazing sex possible. 

 

++++++++++++

 

The first butt plug was inserted even before Starsky got out of bed in the morning. It was so slender he hardly felt it go in and wasn't even sure he could stand up without it falling out. Hutch suggested he try walking around with it on to get accustomed to the unnatural feel of something in his anus. 

Clenching his muscles, Starsky got gingerly off the bed, standing carefully. "It's gonna fall out."

"You're not supposed to let that happen."

"Easy for you to say," Starsky grumbled, but walked slowly into the hall with tightly controlled steps. He wandered down the corridor, noticing a door he hadn't seen the night before. Intrigued enough to momentarily forget about the butt plug, Starsky tried to turn the knob but it was locked. "What's behind door number one?"

"You sure you want to go in there?" Hutch asked with an odd tone in his voice.

"Why?" Starsky asked, his curiosity even more piqued now, "Norman Bates left his mummified mommy behind?"

"See for yourself.” Hutch shrugged. He reached up above the doorframe, retrieving a key that was hidden there.

"Your influence must be rubbing off on the owner," Starsky observed dryly and received a raised eyebrow and a stiff fingered warning from his master. He pretended to look chastised, but in reality was brimming with exuberance. Somehow the day seemed to hold a multitude of possibilities all of which he wanted to discover.

With a little flourish, Hutch unlocked the mystery door and pushed it open. The scent of leather and past assignations wafted out. Starsky's heart sped up, vibrating his chest as he walked in. At the last moment, he remembered to clench his butt muscles tightly, but it was too late. Just as the room's contents were assaulting his senses, he heard a soft plop on the ground behind him.

"Oops." Starsky turned around to stare at the butt plug lying innocuously on the floor behind him, wondering how many demerits he'd just earned and would trying to explain make things worse?

"Well, you did say it wouldn't stay in." Hutch couldn't help the chuckle that vibrated deep in his chest. He bent to pick it up, the laughter spilling out until he was helpless to stop it. And as often is the case, laughter's contiguousness infected Starsky too until both of them were giggling, arms thrown around each other to keep themselves upright.

"I'll go get the medium-sized one while you look around." Hutch wiped his eyes, "little one." He grinned at the now somewhat inappropriate nickname.

"You're gonna leave me here?" Starsky squeaked.

"Don’t you want to see what they've got?"

"Uh--yeah." Starsky glanced around the well-stocked 'dungeon' with an uncertain smile. "I just didn't think you would…"

"Don't touch anything," Hutch said placidly, going back down the hall.

As if he even wanted to. Starsky tucked his hands behind his back, unconsciously placing them in the exact position they'd be if the cuffs he was wearing were clipped together. Everything he saw was designed for pain, erotic torture or at least to restrain the wearer so he or she couldn't fight when something was done to them. Half of him wanted to make a made dash out the door and yet, the other half of him wanted Hutch to take some of the wicked toys down and use them--on Starsky. 

There was a rack like he'd seen in horror movies, a strange contraption hanging from the ceiling consisting of a head sized cage and a series of straps for securing the prisoner and other oddities that had probably been used during the Spanish inquisition. Every sized whip, crop, flogger and cane were displayed with a whipping block and an old fashioned pillory near by. In one glass-fronted case were dozens of collars, cuffs and leashes. Also regulation police hand cuffs, full coverage leather masks and spreader bars of every length. Somehow, since most of those things had already been used on him, they didn't spike his adrenaline as much as some of the larger pieces of furniture had. and Starsky examined the case's contents carefully. On a shelf below the cuffs were nipple clamps and gags. He was still staring at the red rubber ball with a leather band threaded through the middle when Hutch returned. Starsky reacted like he'd had an electric shock, jumping back from the shelves of bondage equipment.

"See anything you like?"

"Like isn't exactly the word, but it makes me…want to experiment," Starsky admitted.

"Anything in particular?"

Starsky glanced back at the case, his mouth dry, imagining something rammed between his teeth, preventing him from speaking while Hutch did something out of sight behind him. Hutch would be wearing his leather pants and leather gloves, rubbing the smooth calfskin along Starsky's naked skin.

"A gag?" Hutch asked softly. "I thought you didn't want that?"

"And you did?" Starsky didn't mean for his voice to raise up like that at the end, making it a question.

"I'm not pushing the issue." Hutch held up the medium-sized plug, "But I want to be pushing this inside of you. Lean over."

Starsky nodded; not so concerned with the concept as he had been the night before. The little one hadn't even been noticeable, so how much worse could this one be? With only mild trepidation, he braced himself against the edge of an ebony black table studded with 'D' rings and leather cuffs at regular intervals and leaned over, his ass pushed out for Hutch's use.

"Since you had some trouble keeping the first one in, I'll have to chain this one," Hutch said conversationally, rubbing some lube onto the rubber toy. Starsky watched over his shoulder, suddenly much more nervous.

"What if I have to use the john?" 

"Tell me. And if we keep doing this regularly, I'll have to start giving you enemas. For sure before I actually start fisting you. For now, as long as you're clean…"

Okay, that got his attention. Enemas. The 'f' word again. Starsky took a shaky breath when he felt Hutch's fingers dig into the meat of his buttocks, widening the puckered opening. The plug slipped in without trouble, staying in place easily with the tight seal of the sphincter muscle, This was not so bad, Starsky caught himself thinking until he straightened up, gasping. While not quite as big as Hutch's actual mass, the anal plug felt alien, hard and unyielding. And he'd never actually done much movement when Hutch was riding him hard, except the squirming and thrusting usual to sexual encounters. This was entirely different.

"I dunno if…" Starsky began, holding on tightly to the torture table, risking a look into Hutch's inquiring eyes.

"You don't have any choice in the matter," Hutch said matter of factly, "Now turn around so I can fasten the chain."

Starsky took hesitant steps, feeling the awful thing shift slightly inside him. It made his servitude all the more real. There wasn't anything he could do about it, that was the beauty of the whole thing. He didn't have to make choices, he didn’t have to think, he only had to react and obey. Even if he wasn't too thrilled with the outcome, as long as his master was happy, the slave was happy.

Hutch fiddled with a slender gold chain, hooking it to the plug in the back and running two halves of the chain up and over Starsky's hip bones before slipping a gold cock ring into place and clipping the chains on either side. Then he reached underneath, running his hands sensually along Starsky's inner groin and testicles, grabbing two more chains still attached to the butt plug and pulling them tautly between his legs so they rubbed against the perineum. These chains were also attached to the cock ring, leaving Starsky's genitals imprisoned and completely off limits to him.

"God, that looks pretty," Hutch sighed when he'd finished. "I'd like to see you like this every day, but it would spoil the specialness. How does it feel?"

Surprised at the question, Starsky shifted his weight, trying to get accustomed to the feel of something rammed up inside him and then locked into place. It didn't really hurt, he realized with amazement. It didn't really feel good, but it wasn't bad either. There was no pain. He was just incredibly aware of his lower half in a way he'd never been before. Every movement, every second brought his mind down to his chained dick and plugged anus. He almost wanted to be completely restrained so he wouldn't…couldn't try to dislodge any of the items. He wanted complete and utter submission, to surrender to the loss of control and drink it into his pores, become one with his role as slave. It was total captivity and total freedom at the same time but to voice that wish aloud was terrifying. "I don't think I can sit down," he said instead.

"That's okay. You can kneel during breakfast and afterwards we'll walk around the grounds a little. It looks like it's gonna be a gorgeous day," Hutch said cheerily, leading the way out of the dark walled room.

How he knew that, Starsky wasn't sure, since the dungeon had no windows. In fact, he was willing to bet it was soundproofed and that the leather lined walls were slightly padded for extra safety. But, he wasn't sure he ever wanted to be in there with the doors shut. While it was scary and exciting enough to be trussed up like a hero of a melodrama in a normal living room, it was quite another thing to be worked over in a place like this. And suddenly, that was all Starsky wanted. The yearning to be bound and alone in the dungeon welled up inside of him like nothing had in a long time, maybe forever. But how could he ask Hutch about it without sounding like he was trying to top from the bottom? He wanted it all, total, complete sensory deprivation.

Walking down the stairs was his first lesson in Butt Plugs 101. Every time Starsky put his foot down on the riser below, the plug seemed to rotate inside him causing little burns of pain along his abused inner walls. He was sincerely glad to attain the flat, even floor of the main room and padded into the kitchen, his muscles clenching tightly against the intruder. This was going to be a long morning, especially when he remembered with a jolt that this was only the medium-sized plug. He wondered if the three bears had had anything like this and gave a little laugh.

"What are you thinking about?" Hutch got out bowls and spoons for the fruit salad he'd brought with them.

"The three bears--the first one was too small, the second was too hard and the third one was too big, or something like that. It's been a long time since I read the story."  
Starsky stole a piece of pineapple, popping it into his mouth. "I guess that makes you Goldilocks."

"I think I'm the big bad wolf." Hutch pinched hard on Starsky's left nipple, "No eating until I say so."

"Wrong story, isn't that Red Riding Hood?" Starsky smiled even with Hutch's fingers still gripping his nipple so tightly he could feel the line of pain up to his collarbone.

"You don't have a hood," Hutch left off the nipple, to Starsky's relief, and wrapped his forefinger and thumb around the circumcised end of his lover's penis. "So that must make you one of the three little pigs." He tightened the circle of his fingers until Starsky was shuddering with need, then released him. 

"Huh?" He didn't want to bring up the whole Jews don't eat or be pork issue.

"Cause I'll huff, and I'll puff and I'll blow your cock in." Hutch laughed, washing his hands.

"You don't remember those stories any better than I do. How long do I have to keep this in?" Starsky asked, carrying the food over to the table.

 

"Half hour, give or take." Hutch shrugged, dishing out the fruit and some blueberry muffins. "Depends on my mood."

"And mine," Starsky guessed astutely, knowing that if he complained much it would probably stay in longer.

"You catch on quick." Hutch pointed to the floor. "Kneel down for breakfast."

The after-meal walk in the nearby woods was strangely calming, even though by Starsky's reckoning, the plug had now been in for considerably longer than 30 minutes. He'd been allowed silky jogging shorts, a sweatshirt and shoes for out of doors and walked holding Hutch's hand, in awe of the astonishing flora around them. Tall eucalyptus trees grew within inches of oak, beech, pine and maple in a glorious riot of intermingled vegetation which by rights shouldn't be sharing the same soil. Above them, in the trees were not only the vivid blue and red parrots and strikingly beautiful greens and teals of the peacocks but ethereal white cockatoos and bright flashes of carmine cardinals. Around every turn there seemed to be new delights and imaginative touches to the landscape. They discovered a 'secret' waterfall with a small mermaid statue curved on a rock staring at the falling water, similar but not quite the same as the more famous mermaid in Copenhagen.

A small outcropping of rock made it possible to walk under the waterfall without getting wet. Hutch held out his hand, steadying Starsky on the slippery rocks until they were hidden by a sheet of falling water. Placing his hands on either side of his love's face, Hutch swooped in for a kiss, both of them savoring the clandestine encounter.

"You've been so good this morning, Starsky, do you like this kind of thing? Talk to me." 

"I didn't think I would…having this thing up my ass is different from being tied up, but it…makes me want to try everything in that room upstairs." Starsky could feel the tight stretch of the gold chain over his perineum scraping his nerves to fine threads. He was aroused all the time and with the cock ring in place, his erection was becoming distinctly uncomfortable. Meanwhile, his anal muscles contracted continuously, as if his body was unable to decide whether to push the thing out or pull it deeper inside. 

"Everything?" Hutch laughed, nuzzling his shoulder.

"Okay, maybe not everything, but…can I make a request?" Starsky was turning into champagne with the tiny strokes of Hutch's tongue. Little bubbles tickled and burst around him, sending delicious shivers up his back. Hutch hauled the sweatshirt over his head, leaving Starsky naked except for the tiny blue shorts and began to work with interest on his chest, pushing him up against the damp mossy rock under the overhang of the waterfall.

"I'm listening," Hutch murmured, still licking and kissing every inch of his slave's sweet skin.

"When you use the…bigger plug…" Starsky had a hard time forming words, his knees turning to jelly. He grabbed onto the tails of the leather jacket Hutch wore, to hold himself upright. The rock was cold against his spine, but he wouldn't have protested for the world. "I want to be restrained, the works…uh…blindfold…"

"The gag?" Hutch stopped, pulling back to look at him.

"Yeah," Starsky whispered, his mouth going dry again just thinking about it. As he'd noticed earlier, he couldn’t quite say the actual word, but Hutch understood him anyway. Such a simple little word, only three letters, two actually, just 'g' and 'a' but it loomed in front of him like a monster. "I want--I need to feel powerless…to go to the edge and look down."

"Deprived of all senses," Hutch said softly, rubbing the tension that seized up Starsky's shoulders.

"Under your control. For just a little while."

"Then let's get going." Hutch lingered for one last kiss before giving him the sweatshirt to put back on. It was hot in the direct sunlight, but here under the rocks, next to water, it was chilly. 

Starsky shivered, pulling the shirt over his head, but it wasn't the cold that made him tremble. What had he just asked for? Could he handle tight bondage? What if he got claustrophobic when he was gagged, cuffed and blindfolded? His heart accelerated just thinking about it. He'd never liked small, dark confined places before. Would he feel like he was down a well? How did he communicate his needs? Swallowing with determination, Starsky planted his thumb between the first and second fingers on his left hand and waggled the tip of his thumb remembering the childhood song 'Where is thumpkin?' Must be his morning for nursery stories. But just knowing he could still remember the sign for 'T' made everything safer and easier to bear. This was what he wanted. At least it was what he thought he wanted.

 

+++++++++++++++

 

"Okay, I wasn't sure you were ready for this, but since you asked specifically…" Hutch smiled fondly at Starsky sitting on the edge of the black table, once again in the dungeon room. "You'll be going into deep submission where your entire existence is mine to control, and you have no say or will of your own."

"Yes," Starsky agreed.

"You'll be completely bound, unable to move, but I'll never leave you without a method of communication. Since we worked out the sign language signal, you can use that again. If I was ever to cover your hands with mitts or gloves, I wouldn't gag you."

"Thank you, master." Starsky could already feel himself focusing completely on Hutch's voice. It had always had a calming effect on him, even in the most volatile situations, but now it seemed like his lifeline, the only thing that kept him bound to the earth. Even though he had requested this extreme session, he was still terrified and excited at the same time. His belly was buzzing like it was full of bees but his cock was as hard as a rock since Hutch had pulled out the medium-sized plug and removed the cock ring.

"I'll put the butt plug in first, then the gag, blindfold and so forth. Once everything is in place, you'll remain like that for one hour…" 

Starsky gave a tiny wordless sound, but didn't really protest. To be truthful, Hutch's recitation of what he was about to do was completely arousing him, and he wanted to start before his resolve faltered.

Not acknowledging Starsky's interruption, Hutch continued, "At the end, I'll remove the restraints and equipment in the order it went on, depending on how long all of that takes, the plug could be in for over an hour and a half. Understood?" 

"Yes sir." 

"This is for you to find your center, Starsk." Hutch cupped his cheek, rubbing a gentling thumb along his lower lip, "Find your submission so that sometimes when it's hard for you to follow instructions, you can drop down into this place and accept."

"You'll stay here, won't you?"

"I won't leave your side. When you're completely bound I'll tap you twice on the arm to signal the beginning. You could use that as a command to drop into a submissive headspace. If you get more proficient at it, my just tapping your arm would be the only signal you'd need."

"Anywhere?" Starsky asked breathlessly.

"Anywhere, any time." He opened up the box containing the biggest of the plugs, looking straight at Starsky instead of at what he was holding. Starsky locked onto those sky blue eyes, wanting to dive into their depth. "Are you ready?" Hutch asked.

"Ready."

"Take a good look at what I'm going to put inside you." Hutch handed over a rubber butt plug, which was noticeably different than the previous two. It was much larger around, resembling a spade on a playing card, with a wide bottom before it tapered down to the base. At six inches in length, it was longer than the others and Starsky winced in anticipation when he handed it back to his lover. Hutch prepared the toy with a good slathering of lube then directed Starsky to lie on his side with one leg straight and the other bent. This gave him a good view of the tiny opening the plug was supposed to go into and without much preparation, Hutch slowly began to push it in.

Holding on to the edge of the table, Starsky kept repeating to himself, _"It's not so bad, it's not so bad."_ And at the beginning he managed to convince himself of that, almost smiling when Hutch stopped the forward momentum for a few moments, letting Starsky take a breath.

"How're you doing?" Hutch asked, easing the plug out a fraction of an inch. "Relax, it'll only hurt if you tense up."

"I'm trying." Starsky held in an exclamation as Hutch thrust the toy further inside, but he couldn't help a tiny squeal of complaint. "It's not going to fit!" He puffed his cheeks out like a blow fish, panting with exertion but the more Hutch thrust it home, the more his body protested the violation. "Hutch, it doesn't fit, take it out." Starsky was close to pleading, giving a sigh of relief when the plug slid part way out.

"You gave up any say in the matter," Hutch said ominously, "It's not your choice any more, is it?"

"No," Starsky gasped, even with the plug only halfway in, and not to the largest part of the diameter, his anal muscles were screaming in pain. He knew he needed to relax but it was getting harder and harder to ignore the agony in his butt. He just wanted to pull it out now, and reached around back with his left hand.

"Stop." Hutch commanded in his hardest voice. "Whose collar do you wear?"

"Yours." 

"Who do you belong to?"

"You."

"You belong to me body, soul and mind." Hutch spoke in a low, dangerous voice that was somehow soothing at the same time. The same voice that had commanded Starsky to come to Whip's Bar. It was the voice of his Master. "Every part of you is mine. This ass is mine. These are mine." His fingers were suddenly twisting Starsky's left nipple, pinching hard enough to direct some of the pain away from the other half of his body.

"Body, soul and mind," Starsky echoed, his muscles beginning to relax despite the assault now on two fronts. He could feel his submission drop down, enveloping him in a soft cocoon, freeing him from decision and confrontation. He'd only managed this level for a few moments ever, but he welcomed the state, knowing that was the only way he was going to cope with the rest of the session. "Push it in all the way."

Hutch shoved the plug in one go that wrangled a scream deep from Starsky's gut when the two-inch width plundered his tender rectum. The pain ripped through his burning muscles and then, amazingly, seemed to recede. It was always palpable but as Hutch adjusted the fit before buckling the strap that held the plug in place, Starsky could almost touch the pleasure that hovered just beyond his reach. He hoped with full bondage he could drop down until he found the pleasure at the bottom of the well, because he wanted it badly.

"Now the gag." Hutch held up the red ball and leather strap Starsky had been looking at earlier. "I want you to put it in yourself."

"I can't," Starsky protested fearfully.

"I'm taking 'can't' out of your vocabulary. The only thing you can say to me is 'I can' or your safeword." He placed it into Starsky's hand. "Put it in your mouth."

Not even closing his fingers around the strap hanging off his palm, Starsky stared up at his dominant lover, trying not to give in to the frightened tears that stung his eyes. "Isn't this something a master should do?"

"Are you trying to give me orders?" Hutch asked in a menacing tone, "Two demerits."

"No, just…"

"Starsky." His voice was entirely different, that of a concerned friend only trying to help, "You need to get over the fear this holds over you, little one." He smoothed the unruly curls, petting Starsky the way he'd fondle a kitten. Starsky leaned into the caress, wanting it to go on forever. "There are far worse things than a gag. Put it in your mouth, now."

The last command brooked no disobedience. Hating that his hands trembled, Starsky closed his eyes and brought the gag up to his mouth, placing the ball between his lips and holding the two ends of the strap in either hand. The ball was wider than he'd expected, extending his jaw until he was certain he heard the hinges creak. There was an immediate ache in his cheek muscles which in a darkly comic way, saved him. His sense of the absurd reared up, mentally comparing the two ends of his body, both openings plugged with red rubber, both sets of cheek muscles sore and burning. Still, he almost jumped out of his skin when Hutch took the two ends of the gag strap from him and buckled them tightly behind him, taking care not to tangle his hair in the buckle.

"There." Hutch sounded pleased, which sent a thrill of pleasure down to Starsky's dick. It jumped to attention, which made Hutch laugh. "I knew this was turning you on, you bondage junkie." 

_Oh, God, yes._ That's what he was, Starsky realized. In just three sessions he'd taken to bondage like a baby to a bottle. It soothed him, cradled him, calmed him, even when it was scary as hell and a little bit painful. And there was no doubt that it aroused him. A lot. But already he wanted the gag out, he'd had enough and was ready to return to normal. He was just about to signal Hutch with the 'T' sign when a blindfold came over his eyes, shutting him into darkness. 

"Relax, sweet prince," Hutch crooned, running a gentle hand down his curved body, "Put you hands up to your collar, wrists crossed. I'm going to shackle them there, and your ankles will be chained. You won't be able to move in any way. Then, I'll put your cock into a chastity cage and last ear plugs. One hour like that. Find your pleasure, Starsk. Find what truly fulfills you. " 

Starsky crossed his arms as instructed, feeling Hutch attach them together at the cuffs then link them to the ring in his collar with a short chain. His ankles were drawn up, clipped together and a short chain was brought up and attached to the belt that held the anal plug in place. His knees were bent with his heels almost brushing the lower swell of his buttocks. 

"I know this is scary, Starsk," Hutch continued speaking as he moved around the room. Starsky hung on his every word to keep himself grounded in the here and now. Even though the tight bondage was incredibly arousing, he was still terrified of his complete and utter immobility. If there was a fire, if he needed to go to the bathroom, if he wanted to run for his life, he couldn't. As Hutch had pointed out, even if he used the safeword, it would take several long minutes for him to be even semi-mobile. He was truly at Hutch's mercy, and it felt amazing. 

"Even though this seems like torture, it is really all for you. To discover the submissive inside you and embrace it," Hutch coached.

Feeling Hutch's warm lips ripple across the smooth skin just above his groin sent Starsky into instant aching arousal. He arched his body so that his cock brushed against Hutch's mouth but his need was not to be addressed. Instead, Hutch began to thread small cold rings over and around the stiff cock and swollen balls. Starsky was so erect the rings barely fit, and guttural sounds emerged from his throat as Hutch manhandled his painfully engorged member into place. 

Shocking coldness dropped down, enveloping his genitals in an icy blanket, wilting the erection with a suddenness that left Starsky lightheaded, but his cock fit much more comfortably into it's confinement after that. 

"I'm locking this with a small lock." Hutch spoke after several minutes of silence, stilling Starsky's restless, almost frenzied movements. "In fact, I may leave this on after we're finished, it looks hot, and I think you'll like it, too. Now, the last piece of equipment. After I put in the earplugs, you'll have one hour. I have a timer and I'll always be in the room with you." With that, he raised up Starsky's heavy head, inserting soft, spongy ear plugs into each ear.

Immediately his heart pounded, echoing in his head as loudly as jungle drums, the blood rushing through his veins deafening. Starsky trembled, fear pouring off of him in waves. He was chained, cuffed, gagged and blindfolded. Bucking in agitation, he struggled in his bounds, trying to break free, out of his mind with fear. A peaceful hand touched Starsky's forehead, slowing his frantic movements. Thumbs pressed against the fragile skin of his temples, making lazy, calming circles until he was able to breathe without a struggle. Starsky's heart rate slowed perceptively so he didn't feel like he was running a marathon, and he lay quietly, trying to come to equitable terms with his enforced bondage.

Two firm taps on his upper bicep stilled even his racing thoughts. What was the significance Hutch had given those taps? Oh, yes, deep submission. Total surrender.

With a shuddery breath, Starsky tried to remember back to the few times he'd managed true deep submission. That desired state had always been so fleeting, but it had been extraordinary to be completely free, completely relaxed, even for a few seconds. He so rarely had quiet time when he wasn't in a whirl of activity that he could barely remember being truly calm in the last few years. It was difficult to force his body to be still. He should, by rights, hate being restrained, but instead it was like expensive therapy, necessary for his mental well being.

Letting his mind drift he recalled years earlier when Hutch had cajoled him into attending a yoga class, promising sexy women and an alternative to weight lifting and calisthenics. Starsky would later insist he'd only returned to subsequent classes because of the pretty girls bending their lithe bodies into bizarre contortions but in truth he'd enjoyed the challenge of twisting himself into pretzel-like positions and then the total relaxation only possible after intense yoga. That had been close to the sensation he wanted to achieve here.

Starsky let out a slow exhalation, dropping as deeply down into the submissive well as he could on the first try. Each measured inhalation and exhalation, each second that he accepted being bound and held under his master's will dropped him further and further into a slave headspace.

He released the aching burn in his ass and jaw, forgot about the pull on his knee joints and accepted his bound cock as his due. He was a slave. When the endorphins swamped his emotions he wanted to weep with happiness, welcoming the natural high. He WAS a slave. Just the image of himself kneeling at Hutch's feet with his hands cuffed behind his back filled him with such joy, he felt his body soar upwards like an eagle on the wind. With nothing to hold him to the earth Starsky flew through a twilight sky, floating amongst pink and blue clouds, awed by his total release. Above him a silvery white crane slowly flapped its wings, then swooped downwards, as if to intercept him in mid-flight. 

 

+++++++++++

 

Hutch stood to one side of the black table, his eyes drawn to Starsky's bowed and fettered body. Just the touch of his hand had soothed his slave and now after the first frantic struggle Starsky had calmed and seemed hardly there at all, as if he'd left this bound shell behind and flown away. Hutch longed to reach out, touch that sweetly furred chest and feel the pound of the powerful heart inside, but he didn't want to disturb Starsky's deep, almost trance-like state. Even with the blindfold hiding half that expressive face, Hutch knew Starsky was at peace and he rejoiced.

This had been such an incredible weekend, filled with magical moments and unimaginable sex. He couldn't believe the two of them had come so far in such a short time. Just three sessions and both were completely immersed in BDSM. It still thrilled him that Starsky had such a predilection for this alternative life style. And that he was such a fan of bondage was a revelation. 

Hutch would have never guessed that he'd be shackling Starsky and enjoy seeing his macho lover squirm and whimper with desire and yes, pain. That was so alien a concept Hutch was still trying to get accustomed to it himself. He'd despaired every time Starsky had ever been injured on the job, mourned every scar and cruel act others had caused and yet here he was, happily subjecting Starsky to fairly profound acts of pain and erotic torture. Why? What kind of perverted person did that? Why did he fantasize having Starsky spread-eagled over a whipping frame, with his black gloved hands roaming over that strong muscled body before delivering six quick smacks with a cane? It was horrible and wonderful and already his cock was rock hard just thinking about it. He loved touching Starsky's body. Loved claiming every battle scared inch as his own property and putting his mark on it. He dreamed about sliding his hands up under Starsky's leather jacket while they were on the job, unclasping the shoulder holster, ripping the buttons off his shirt and having his way with his prisoner in an alley behind some seamy bar. It was such a turn-on to know that these long-standing fantasies would arouse Starsky just as much, and that there was every possibility that they might be reality in the near future.

Still wanting to touch his lover but unwilling to disturb him before the hour was up Hutch settled himself on a leather hassock that could double as a whipping block. Crossing his legs, he folded them into the lotus position and emptied his mind of all things but Starsky. Reaching out on the astral plane Hutch could feel his spirit soar; imagining Starsky's flying below him like an exotic dark bird. In his vision they were both birds, joining in mid-flight the way jets did when they refueled. Linked together, but flying free--it was a perfect image of bondage, reinforcing the concept that bondage wasn't a confinement but a joining of two people who couldn't imagine life apart.

When Hutch came out of his meditation, the house was serenely quiet around him, even the screeching sound of the birds outside quieted. Only five minutes remained in the hour and Hutch smiled with happiness, knowing he and Starsky had reached a new level in their journey together. He began to sing, songs coming out of his mouth without any conscious thought, but suiting the mood perfectly.

++++++++++

 

Starsky couldn't believe it when he felt two taps on his upper arm, bringing him out of his reverie. Strong fingers were carding through his curly hair then pulling the earplugs free. It hadn't been an hour, had it?

"Times up, my heart.” Hutch's warm breath tickled Starsky's earlobe. "Take your time to come down to Earth."

Feeling boneless, Starsky gave no resistance as Hutch manipulated his limbs, freeing him from captivity. Instead, he focused on his master's voice, singing softly as he worked. The words were gentle and oddly appropriate.

"I'll be there when you're coming down, to kiss away the tears and sorrow." Hutch sang, rubbing circulation into Starsky's legs and arms. "I'll share with you all the happiness you see, a reflection of the love in your eyes."

Starsky wished he could speak, describe what had just happened, but no words were adequate. Instead he let himself be handled like a doll, waiting for each gadget to be removed. Finally, all that was left was the chastity cage, gag and butt plug. The deep bruising ache of his jaw muscles and the protest in his backside once again made their presence known but these were minor compared to his euphoric sense of happiness. The lingering effects of his experience had left him as high as a kite, and he almost wanted to insist Hutch leave him bound for another hour.

Hutch unbuckled the gag, easing it out of his slave's mouth and kissed Starsky there before offering him a bottle of water to sip. 

Starsky closed his throbbing jaw carefully, working the muscles before drinking some water. It tasted sweet and cool.

"How do you feel?" Hutch rubbed his shoulder, watching him with such love Starsky had to return some of that love.

Starsky turned his head, kissing the inside of his partner's wrist. "So incredible, Fuckin' amazing." He didn't know whether to laugh or cry, his emotions all so near the surface he felt transformed. He'd had a metamorphosis and seriously wondered if he looked in the mirror would there be visible changes. His submission had become part of his being, not just an abstract concept, but an integral part of who he was.

"I'm glad." Hutch pulled him up, helping him to sit on the table.

Starsky yelped, the change in position forcing the butt plug deeper inside him, but he hardly cared. 

"Watching you…" Hutch cupped his face, still looking deeply into his eyes. "I was jealous."

"But you were there." Starsky traced his lips, smoothing his blond eyebrows and touching that silvery hair, "I could sense you, always, always with me."

"I meditated…you saw me?" Hutch laughed with delight.

"At first, when you put in the ear plugs, I was really scared. I felt trapped inside a cage…"

"Claustrophobic?"

"Not really." He shook his head. He did occasionally suffer from a fear of small spaces, but this had been different. He'd been more afraid of losing his way, never being his own person again, just Hutch's slave. But that hadn't happened. Instead he felt more alive and yet more connected than ever to his best friend. "Afraid of being alone, I guess, no senses. But when you tapped me on the arm, I knew it would be all right…I went to that place…It was perfect and peaceful and I don't even know…"

"Do you think you can remember that place and get there again?" Hutch asked, "If I tapped your arm, could you drop into your submissive headspace without being bound?"

"I liked being bound!" Starsky chuckled. "I want to be able to do that…but it'll take more work. Can we do this again?"

"Glutton, you are hooked," Hutch teased. He sang, "you can't always get what you want." 

"First John Denver, now the Stones? You got a whole collection of bondage related songs?"

"No, but that's an excellent idea. I gotta start a list." 

"I love you." 

"God, how I love you." Hutch pressed a chaste kiss into his forehead, "Stand up, I'll get this thing out of you." He patted his bottom on the butt, jostling the plug, reminding Starsky of just how big it really was.

Starsky got awkwardly off the table; his legs were still wobbly, his hips splayed and slack jointed. He braced himself against the black table, facing away from Hutch. "The cuffs are fine, and even the nasty mouth ball that buckles in the back…" Starsky started, hissing through his teeth as the butt plug popped free. "But that thing I can do without."

Nuzzling Starsky's neck, Hutch just held him. A shared moment in time, just one of many they would have, but nonetheless precious and treasured. He pulled Starsky in tighter, winding his arms around his waist. Starsky savored Hutch's strong chest against his back, the smoothness of the leather pants pressing against his butt, even though his anus felt loose and bruised. And he was so very aware of it.

"Get used to it. He or one of his ilk…"

"Ilk?" Starsky turned in his arms so that he was now facing Hutch.

"Are gonna be your constant fuck buddies from now on. When I'm not staking my claim."

"You're just a ray a'sunshine, y'know that? How constant?"

"Fisting means this goes up where this one was." Hutch held up his big closed fist next to the red rubber plug. Starsky gulped audibly, the size difference was still considerable.

"So his ilk are bigger, huh?"

"Bigger than big red here, little one, but we'll take it in stages."

"Slow down you move too fast…" Starsky trebled with a grin. He had a lightheartedness about the whole thing that he'd never have managed at the beginning of January. This was so much fun. Oh, there were still some aspects that scared the crap out of him, but he wanted it all--every perverted, kinky game the two of them could devise.

"Simon and Garfunckle," Hutch identified.

"And Three Dog Night," Starsky whispered into Hutch's parted lips, "Joy to the world, all the boys and girls, joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea, joy to you and me."

"Not quite in the bondage theme." Hutch kissed him from ear to collar bone, concentrating especially on the brown leather collar. 

Starsky focused his fast diminishing powers of concentration on liberating Hutch from his leather pants. He managed to unzip the fly one handed before Hutch's assault distracted him from that pursuit.

"No chains or dominance themes…" Hutch left a long wet swatch along his lover's throat with his tongue, "now…'I've got you under my skin'…"

"But it suits my mood." Starsky buried his nose in blond hair. "It's my theme for the day." Just the musty scent of Hutch, his shampoo and an earthy odor of sweat, was intoxicating. Starsky's arousal sent a rush of blood down south, his cock starting to swell with base desires. He pressed himself against Hutch's responding stiffness, but something solid jammed into his genitals, and it wasn't long, pink and hard. Abruptly he groaned, reaching down to encounter an impenetrable barrier closed around his penis.

"What's this?" Starsky reared back, staring at his confined cock with misgivings. Consisting of concentric, interlocking rings and a plastic tube it held his cock and balls imprisoned, and he could feel something biting down inside on his once blossoming erection like the blunt edge of a butter knife. It wasn’t sharp but it was distinctly uncomfortable, and already he was beginning to wilt. Until that moment he'd been in such a blissful state he'd forgotten the chastity cage Hutch had locked around his privates. "God, it looks barbaric." 

"It makes me hot all over," Hutch whispered, his hands roaming freely over   
Starsky's naked skin.

In truth, Starsky had to agree. "How long are you gonna leave it on?" he asked, a blush heating up his cheeks. It was a complete mystery why this fiendish little device of metal and plastic gave him such a thrill. He wanted to be horrified that his master had stolen his most private bodily impulses from him, subjecting him to abject servitude where he even had to ask to come, but instead it made him feel even more desired and loved than ever before. 

"As long as I can." Hutch winked at him. "Maybe even after we go home."

"It'll show," Starsky whispered into the silky skin of Hutch's chest.

"In your skin tight jeans, yeah, but in a pair of pleated slacks, no problem."

"What about going to pee?" Starsky was sure there was already pressure in his bladder.

Hutch nipped his shoulder blade, biting the taut skin between his teeth until he nearly broke through, then releasing it to bestow a kiss on the inflamed area. "There's a hole in the end. You'd have to take it off once in a while to clean it but…" He grinned with a hint of gleeful evilness, his fingers rubbing Starsky's nipples to hard nubs.

"I'd have to wear it?" Starsky asked, both scared and enthralled to hear the answer. "Until you set me free?" He was acutely conscious of his male organs, all his nerve endings tuned to the desperate pulse thrumming through his groin. He'd always been proud to be a man, macho and well satisfied with his 'extra appendage' swinging freely between his thighs. But now it was trapped and off limits, no longer his at all, Hutch's property. It made him hot all over, especially with those big blunt fingers grabbing his butt cheeks, grasping and pinching his flesh without asking for his permission. Using him without regard for his comfort. Because he'd given himself over to Hutch. Even in the midst of this distracting captivation the arrangement between Caress and Lisa came unbidden into his mind. Could he and Hutch achieve a similar level of commitment? 

"I'm never going to set you free." Hutch hugged him fiercely, "You're confined to my heart."

"In bondage for the rest of my days" Starsky sighed dramatically. He couldn't take his eyes off the peculiar contraption, but knew better than to touch it after his initial inspection. "Whadda think would happen if I wore it on the job?"

"Might come in handy if you got kicked in the groin."

"Only you would think of a sex toy as the ultimate in sports cups." Starsky rolled his eyes. 

"Even your erection is no longer yours. It's mine to control. This is locked into place until I take it off." Hutch toyed with the lock, sending jolts of sex through Starsky's system. 

Groaning, Starsky ached with the need to come, yearning to have Hutch's hands clutching his naked rod instead of this plastic trap. 

"Until I say so, you're mine. Every square inch."

Almost swooning from the domineering words and the rough way Hutch was handling him, Starsky arched backwards, thrusting his groin with its strange attire against Hutch's leg. He didn't care that the bite on his cock was almost too much to bear, he was long past noticing petty annoyances of the body. The submissive headspace rolled him under with sudden, unexpected force, leaving him gasping when Hutch dipped a finger into his anus. "Oh, yeah." Starsky whispered, grasping the edge of the table to hold himself up while Hutch's finger explored deeper. He was half supported by Hutch's arm with one leg jammed against the black table but his senses were too overloaded to notice anything but the need to come. It was overwhelming him. Circuits were beginning to snap and fizzle, leading to a total meltdown. 

"Take me. Please," Starsky begged. He knew it would hurt, he knew he wouldn't be able to sit down for days but he was going to die in the next few seconds if something didn't happen soon

It hurt so good, sooo good. His whole cock ached like a sore tooth, his balls fighting their way free of their bounds, but still he begged for more. "Huuu…tch."

"Tell me what you want, Starsk." Hutch's voice was muffled, his lips sucking on Starsky's shoulder, raising a prominent hickey. "Tell me exactly what you want." He'd already added two fingers, then three into the tight passage he was navigating and with just a little force, included his pinky leaving only his thumb imprinting on the perineum.

"St-ake your claim." Starsky was shuddering with the need for release, freefalling away from the agony that gripped him and surrendering to the pleasure it brought.

All Hutch had to do was turn his body slightly, eject his fingers from their warm cocoon and ram his steel-hard member home. Because Starsky was still well lubed, Hutch slid in without a token of resistance in one go, his scrotum slapping Starsky's butt with a resounding smack.

Starsky screamed, reaching back to catch Hutch's hips, to force the angle until the pulsing head nailed his prostate dead on. 

Hutch was babbling nonsense, or at least it was nonsense to Starsky. Nothing made any sense at all except the cock up his rear and the quaking, amazing stimuli to his prostate. He wanted it to go on forever, but his own cock felt sliced in two from the barrier preventing his full erection. 

Hot spurts of semen filled his rectum until Starsky marveled that he could hold it all. Hutch must have the testes of an elephant, because the scalding flood went on and on, searing Starsky's bowels. He whimpered with delight, his body hot and cold at the same time, almost in shock from the avalanche of stimuli. Finally, Hutch shouted inarticulately, giving one last jolting thrust and sighed. He was panting, sweat dripping down his chest, slicking Starsky's back, and it took some effort to disconnect the two of them. 

"God," Starsky whispered, too sore to move much. Come dripped down his buttocks and thighs, but he made no effort to wipe at the mess. He didn't have a towel or washrag anyway.

"Oh, yeah." Hutch leaned his forehead against his partner's shoulder, before digging into his pocket for the key. "This thing's been on for long enough." He knelt, kissing his slave's overly sensitive groin before unlocking the chastity cage and easing it off with special care.

Starsky still groaned; his cock hurt like he'd been kicked but it sprang out of its bars to full length so quickly he was light headed and woozy.

"C-an I come, Hutch? Please?" There was desperation in the last words, Starsky's teeth clenched from the sharp edge on which his nerves balanced.

"No problem." Hutch only had to close his lips around the turgid, purplish-red organ when Starsky bucked, his balls tightening up as they emptied their load into Hutch's mouth. After the long build up, the climax was over so soon Starsky might have been disappointed if it hadn't been for Hutch's body wrapped around his, his mouth still warming the finally flaccid penis.

"When can we do this again?" Starsky asked, slumped with one elbow on the black table to hold him up. He felt abused, internally and externally but invigorated at the same time, charged with a wild, joyful abandon.

"Any time I say so." Hutch pulled himself up, still the dominant but also a friend, "But you need to get some rest or you won't have the stamina to do this again."

"I'll rest if you will." Starsky smoothed Hutch's mussed blond locks, "Bath and then a nap? How long do we have this place for, anyhow?"

"I thought I was the one who gave the orders around here." Hutch put a steady arm around his lover, leading him out of the dungeon towards the bathroom. "Check out time is noon, tomorrow."

"Oh!" Starsky widened his eyes with mischief, "but we're off the clock, aren't we?"

"Officially, your indenture has ended for this weekend. It's all rest from now on."

_"All_ rest?" Starsky teased.

"Maybe not all," Hutch conceded, depositing his friend on the vanity stool while he turned on the bathtub tap. "Maybe something will come up after lunch."

"Maybe so." Starsky agreed. How could it be that he was this tired and this horny at the same time? "Something may come up sooner than you think." He looked pointedly at his friend's little buddy who appeared quite interested in the innuendo-spiced conversation.

"You may have to take that guy in hand and give him the treatment he deserves," Hutch observed, watching his cock perk up.

"Maybe a fitting punishment?" 

"I don't think, punishment is warranted, that's my department, but you have complete leeway to devise a suitable course of therapy. Looks like a wayward lad to me."

"Physical therapy." Starsky submerged himself in the warm bathtub, moving over to accommodate Hutch. The water sloshed over the side, leaving puddles of water on the blue tiled floor. Above them, the sun had reached its zenith, blazing down at them through the skylight, the blue of the sky echoing the floor and Hutch's eyes. The sun's rays gilt the gold faucet and bathroom fixtures making the whole room sparkle. "This place is incredible," Starsky sighed just brushing his hand over Hutch's growing erection. Even though he was willing to go another round, every second in the relaxing waters was taking away the immediate need. "Looks like a Sheik's palace in some old Dorothy Lamour movie."

"S'meant to," Hutch had sunk down until the bath water lapped at his jawline. "Y'know there are nine other cabins and from what I hear, they're all different."

"Really?" Starsky stared out the huge atrium window that surrounded the octagonal bath, into the tangle of ferns and jasmine vines that partially hid them from potentially prying eyes. Not that there might be any. If what Hutch had said was true, the management of the estate allowed any behaviors between consenting adults. "All different?"

"And in case you're wondering, I already put a down payment on number two."

"What's that place like?"

"Haven't a clue. But, then, I like surprises."

"You do not." Starsky cupped his hand in the water, splashing Hutch with the little wave he created, "I do."

"That's right, I forgot."

"So when do we come back?"

"It's a surprise."

 

FIN


End file.
